"She must! For Nigel's sake! It will kill him if she dies! Yes, I am going! Make Nigel rest, please. Will you see Ethel again to-night?" "Yes; and I shall look in again to see how you are, afterwards. Go straight to bed now. Daisy is waiting for you." "Thanks. Good-bye," said Fulvia. She passed out of the room, without even a glance towards Nigel. His eyes and Dr. Duncan's met, each questioning the other; while Fulvia dragged herself upstairs. CHAPTER XXX NOT I, BUT THOU "Be satisfied that, in order to accomplish all that God would have done there is in one sense but very little to do . . . It is simply a question of yielding up our will; of going cheerfully from day to day whithersoever God may lead us."—FÉNÉLON. "Thou who canst love us, though Thou read us true."—_Christian Year._ SEVEN long weeks had run their course since the day when Fulvia and Ethel fell into the river. Much may happen in seven weeks! And it seemed to Fulvia that much had happened, all within the four walls of her own room, which for six weeks she never left. But more had taken place than she yet knew. She had been very ill—so ill as to lie at death's door. The shock, the fright, the chill, the exposure in wet clothes—these, preceded and accompanied by great agitation, would have been enough to break anybody down. Even Fulvia's vigorous constitution was not proof against so severe a strain. That constitution stood her in good stead, however, when the tide turned and she began to recover. Her improvement was steady, with few drawbacks. Ethel had been ill too, and Fulvia knew it. Not desperately ill, like herself; but laid low with a bad feverish cold, and kept low indefinitely by weakness from which she could not rally. Fulvia, asked after her daily, and could find out no more. Fulvia was intensely desirous for Ethel's recovery. She could never forget the moment when Ethel had slipped away from the bough, as it seemed to certain death, that Fulvia might be saved. Nothing in Fulvia's life had made a stronger impression on her mind. She was penetrated through and through with a sense of Ethel's nobility of character. She thought of it awake, talked of it asleep, raved of it in delirium; and if Fulvia had not often prayed before, she prayed now—constantly, passionately—that Ethel might become well—not for her own sake, but for Nigel's sake! For side by side with Ethel's white face, floating away on the river, as Fulvia saw it perpetually, was Nigel's face, worn and hollow-eyed, as he had come back from the rescue of Ethel. During seven weeks she had not seen Nigel. Once, when she was at her worst, he had nearly been called into the sick-room, in the hope that his face might soothe her restless excitement; but Fulvia, overhearing, had cried out against the suggestion. She was so much worse for the bare idea, that no one thought of proposing it again.