Henrietta knew that Aunt Geoffrey and grandpapa were both of them anxious about her mother’s health, but for her own part she did not think her worse than she had often been before; and whilst she continued in nearly the same state, rose every day, sat in her arm-chair, and was so cheerful, and even lively, there could not be very much amiss, even though there was no visible progress in amendment. Serious complaint there was, as she knew of old, to cause the spasms; but it had existed so long, that after the first shock of being told of it two years ago, she had almost ceased to think about it. She satisfied herself to her own mind that it could not, should not be progressing, and that this was only a very slow recovery from the last attack. Time went on, and a shade began to come over Fred. He was bright and merry when anything occurred to amuse him, did not like reading less, or take less interest in his occupations; but in the intervals of quiet he grew grave and almost melancholy, and his inquiries after his mother grew minute and anxious. “Henrietta,” said he, one day when they were alone together, “I was trying to reckon how long it is since I have seen mamma.” “O, I think she will come and see you in a few days more,” said Henrietta. “You have told me that so many times,” said Fred. “I think I must try to get to her. That passage, if it was not so very long! If Uncle Geoffrey comes on Saturday, I am sure he can manage to take me there.” “It will be a festival day indeed when you meet!” said Henrietta. “Yes,” said he thoughtfully. Then returning to the former subject, “But how long is it, Henrietta? This is the twenty-seventh of March, is it not?” “Yes; a whole quarter of a year you have been laid up here.” “It was somewhere about the beginning of February that Uncle Geoffrey went.” “The fourth,” said Henrietta. “And it was three days after he went away that mamma had those first spasms. Henrietta, she has been six weeks ill!” “Well,” said Henrietta, “you know she was five weeks without stirring out of the room, that last time she was ill at Rocksand, and she is getting better.” “I don’t think it is getting better,” said Fred. “You always say so, but I don’t think you have anything to show for it.” “You might say the same for yourself,” said Henrietta, laughing. “You have been getting better these three months, poor man, and you need not boast.” “Well, at least I can show something for it,” said Fred; “they allow me a lark’s diet instead of a wren’s, I can hold up my head like other people now, and I actually made my own legs and the table’s carry me to the window yesterday, which is what I call getting on. But I do not think it is so with mamma. A fortnight ago she used to be up by ten or eleven o’clock; now I don’t believe she ever is till one.” “It has been close, damp weather,” said Henrietta, surprised at the accurate remembrance, which she could not confute. “She misses the cold bracing wind.”