“Only that glass of jelly--if I had guessed!” “Only one?” “One to-day, one yesterday. It was grandmamma’s doing. Don’t let her know that I told. I wish mamma was here!” Aunt Geoffrey tried to relieve the pain by cold applications, but could not succeed, and Fred grew more and more alarmed. “The inflammation is coming back!” he cried, in an agony of apprehension that almost overcame the sense of pain. “I shall be in danger--I shall lose my senses--I shall die! Mamma! O! where is mamma?” “Lie still, my dear Fred,” said Mrs. Geoffrey Langford, laying her hand on him so as to restrain his struggling movements to turn round or to sit up. “Resistance and agitation will hurt you more than anything else. You must control yourself, and trust to me, and you may be sure I will do the best in my power for you. The rest is in the hands of God.” “Then you think me very ill?” said Fred, trying to speak more composedly. “I think you will certainly make yourself very ill, unless you will keep yourself quiet, both mind and body. There--” she settled him as comfortably as she could: “Now I am going away for a few minutes. Make a resolution not to stir till I come back. Stephens is here, and I shall soon come back.” This was very unlike the way in which his mother used to beseech him as a favour to spare her, and yet his aunt’s tone was so affectionate, as well as so authoritative, that he could not feel it unkind. She left the room, and as soon as she found herself alone in the passage, leant against the wall and trembled, for she felt herself for a moment quite overwhelmed, and longed earnestly for her husband to think for her, or even for one short interval in which to reflect. For this, however, there was no time, and with one earnest mental supplication, summoning up her energies, she walked on to the person whom she at that moment most dreaded to see, her sister-in-law. She found her sitting in her arm-chair, Henrietta with her, both looking very anxious, and she was glad to find her prepared. “What is it?” was the first eager question. “He has been attempting rather too much of late,” was the answer, “and has knocked himself up. I came to tell you, because I think I had better stay with him, and perhaps you might miss me.” “O no, no, pray go to him. Nothing satisfies me so well about him as that you should be there, except that I cannot bear to give you so much trouble. Don’t stay here answering questions. He will be so restless if he misses you--” “Don’t you sit imagining, Mary; let Henrietta read to you.” This proposal made Henrietta look so piteous and wistful that her mother said, “No, no, let her go to Freddy, poor child. I dare say he wants her.” “By no means,” said Aunt Geoffrey, opening the door; “he will be quieter without her.”