It required all Roma’s self-command to keep up a cheerful countenance. She knew better than the child, of course, and even better than the child’s mother, what these hemorrhages meant, and what the relief they brought suggested. From this time forward she was, if possible, even more careful, more attentive and more tender to the sufferer than ever before. Marguerite was extremely weak in body, but not the least depressed in mind. She talked only of recovery and of going to the country. “I feel so light,” she said, “since I got relieved of all that bad blood that oppressed my chest. I shall get well now. This is only the last of January, and I shall have plenty of time to get well and strong before the first of April. And, oh, my little idiot will see the flowers burst into bloom! Do you know she was never in the country in her life, and never saw a growing rosebush, except in a pot?” So she would talk. And as a season of mild weather ensued, she grew better, and under skillful medical treatment and tender nursing and good feeding continued to improve every day until the severe cold and high winds of early March came. Then she took cold again, no one knew how; began to cough and complain of oppression, suffocation and fever. Yet her spirits never flagged, nor did she once think of death. “It is only another cold,” she said to Roma, “but when this month is past then will come the lovely spring, and I shall be well, and go to the country. You are going on the first of April, are you not?” “Yes, dear, if you should be well enough.” “Oh, I shall be well enough, never fear.” One day, when the doctor had made his usual morning visit, he made a slight sign to Roma that he wished to speak to her alone. So when he had taken leave of his patient Roma followed him into the hall. “It is my duty to tell you,” he said, “that our poor young patient will not probably live out this month. If she has any friends or relatives, they should be informed of her condition. Try to ascertain the facts without alarming her.” “Yes, I will,” replied Roma. And after the doctor had left her she stood revolving in her mind how she should proceed. She soon made up her mind, and re-entered the room. Marguerite herself led the way up to the subject. “It is a lovely day for the middle of March,” she said faintly, as she usually now spoke. “Yes, a very lovely day.” “If the weather keeps on like this we might soon go to Goblin Hall.” “Yes, dear. And the Hall is such a great, roomy house that I wish I could fill it up with visitors.” “Oh, no; only you and me and my poor little fool.” “I did not mean strangers, dear, but friends. Now, have you no friends or relations that you would like to have with you? I could easily invite them to come and visit you there; and it would be so pleasant, not only for you and for them, but, most of all, for me.”