“Ah--just what I expected. These faithful old servants always end by presuming on their fidelity. Did you ever hear what a witty poet--I forget his name: he lived to be ninety--said of the man who had been his valet for more than half a century? ‘For thirty years he was the best of servants; and for thirty years he has been the hardest of masters.’ Quite true--I might say the same of my housekeeper. Rather a good story, isn’t it?” The story was completely thrown away on Emily; but one subject interested her now. “My poor aunt has always been fond of me,” she said. “Perhaps she might know me, when she recognizes nobody else.” “Not very likely,” the doctor answered. “But there’s no laying down any rule in cases of this kind. I have sometimes observed that circumstances which have produced a strong impression on patients, when they are in a state of health, give a certain direction to the wandering of their minds, when they are in a state of fever. You will say, ‘I am not a circumstance; I don’t see how this encourages me to hope’--and you will be quite right. Instead of talking of my medical experience, I shall do better to look at Miss Letitia, and let you know the result. You have got other relations, I suppose? No? Very distressing--very distressing.” Who has not suffered as Emily suffered, when she was left alone? Are there not moments--if we dare to confess the truth--when poor humanity loses its hold on the consolations of religion and the hope of immortality, and feels the cruelty of creation that bids us live, on the condition that we die, and leads the first warm beginnings of love, with merciless certainty, to the cold conclusion of the grave? “She’s quiet, for the time being,” Dr. Allday announced, on his return. “Remember, please, that she can’t see you in the inflamed state of her eyes, and don’t disturb the bed-curtains. The sooner you go to her the better, perhaps--if you have anything to say which depends on her recognizing your voice. I’ll call to-morrow morning. Very distressing,” he repeated, taking his hat and making his bow--“Very distressing.” Emily crossed the narrow little passage which separated the two rooms, and opened the bed-chamber door. Mrs. Ellmother met her on the threshold. “No,” said the obstinate old servant, “you can’t come in.” The faint voice of Miss Letitia made itself heard, calling Mrs. Ellmother by her familiar nick-name. “Bony, who is it?” “Never mind.” “Who is it?” “Miss Emily, if you must know.” “Oh! poor dear, why does she come here? Who told her I was ill?” “The doctor told her.” “Don’t come in, Emily. It will only distress you--and it will do me no good. God bless you, my love. Don’t come in.” “There!” said Mrs. Ellmother. “Do you hear that? Go back to the sitting-room.”