Her son George came and spent a fortnight with her before his departure for India, and the news from home concerning her daughter still seemed good. Like a thunderbolt, therefore, from a summer sky, came a letter from Mr. Siddons addressed to Miss Wilkinson, saying that Sally was very ill, but begging her not to make Mrs. Siddons anxious by telling her. Miss Wilkinson, however, felt it to be her duty to show the letter. The mother’s heart divined all that was not said. She declared her intention of starting for England without delay. A violent gale had blown for some days, and no vessel would leave the harbour. Two days later a reassuring letter came from Siddons addressed to his wife, telling her all was well again, and advising her to go to Cork. She went, but her miserable state of mind may be guessed from a letter addressed to Mrs. Fitzhugh:— “Cork, March 21st, 1803. “MY DEAR FRIEND, “How shall I sufficiently thank you for all your kindness to me? You know my heart, and I may spare my words, for, God knows, my mind is in so distracted a state, that I can hardly write or speak rationally. Oh! why did not Mr. Siddons tell me when she was first taken so ill? I should then have got clear of this engagement, and what a world of wretchedness and anxiety would have been spared to me! And yet—good God! how should I have crossed the sea? For a fortnight past it has been so dangerous, that nothing but wherries have ventured to the Holy Head; but yet I think I should have put myself into one of them if I could have known that my poor dear girl was so ill. Oh! tell me all about her. I am almost broken-hearted, though the last accounts tell me that she has been mending for several days. Has she wished for me? But I know—I feel that she has. The dear creature used to think it weakness in me when I told her of the possibility of what might be endured from illness when that tremendous element divides one from one’s family. Would to God I were at her bedside! It would be for me then to suffer with resignation what I cannot now support with any fortitude. If anything could relieve the misery I feel, it would be that my dear and inestimable Sir Lucas Pepys had her under his care. Pray tell him this, and ask him to write me a word of comfort. Will you believe that I must play to-night, and can you imagine any wretchedness like it in this terrible state of mind? For a moment I comfort myself by reflecting on the strength of the dear creature’s constitution, which has so often rallied, to the astonishment of us all, under similar serious attacks. Then, again, when I think of the frail tenure of human existence, my heart fails and sinks into dejection. God bless you! The suspense that distance keeps me in, you may imagine, but it cannot be described.”