Sunday passed in the same isolation. But on Sunday afternoon Delia took the motor out alone, and gave no reason either before or after. "If she's gone out to meet that man, it's a scandal!" thought Madeleine wrathfully, and could hardly bring herself to be civil when the girl returned--pale, wearied, and quite uncommunicative. But she was very touching in a mute, dignified way, all the evening, and Madeleine relented fast. And, as they sat in the fire-lit drawing-room, when the curtains were drawn, Delia suddenly brought a stool close to Lady Tonbridge's side, and, sitting at her feet, held up appealing arms. Madeleine, with a rush of motherliness, gathered her close; and the beautiful head lay, very quiet, on her breast. But when she would have entreated, or argued, again, Delia implored her--"Don't--don't talk!--it's no good. Just let me stay." Late that night, all being ready for departure, Delia went in to say good-night, and good-bye to Weston. "You'll be downstairs and as strong as a horse, when I come back," she said gaily, stroking the patient's emaciated fingers. Weston shook her head. "I don't think I shall ever be good for much, Miss Delia. But"--and her voice suddenly broke--"I believe I'd go through it all again--just to know--what--you could be--to a poor thing--like me." "Weston!--" said Delia, softly--"if you talk like that--and if you dare to cry, Nurse will turn me out. You're going to get quite well, but whether you're well or ill, here you stay, Miss Rosina Weston!--and I'm going to look after you. Polly hasn't packed my things half badly." Polly was the under-housemaid, whom Delia was taking to town. "She wouldn't be worth her salt, if she hadn't," said Weston tartly. "But she can't do your hair, Miss--and it's no good saying she can." "Then I'll do it myself. I'll make some sort of a glorious mess of it, and set the fashion." But her thought said--"If I go to prison, they'll cut it off. Poor Weston!" Weston moved uneasily-- "Miss Delia?" "Yes." "Don't you go getting yourself into trouble. Now don't you!" And with tears in her eyes, the ghostly creature pressed the girl's hand to her lips. Delia stooped and kissed her. But she made no reply. Instead she began to talk of the new bed-rest which had just been provided for Weston, and on which the patient professed herself wonderfully comfortable. "It's better than the one we had at Meran--for papa." Her voice dropped. She sat at the foot of Weston's bed looking absently into some scene of the past. "Nothing ever gave him ease--your poor Papa!" said Weston, pitifully. "He did suffer! But don't you go thinking about it this time of night, Miss Delia, or you won't sleep."