"I think I would rather go there, then; it will feel less lonely if Dr. Bennet is a friend of yours," a sudden terrible sense of isolation and banishment coming over her. "Very well, then, we will decide on St. Leonards, and I will ask them to look out some cheerful apartments for you. You are not particular about price, I dare say; and I can rely on his wife's choice. She is a very good homely body, and will be a great comfort to you--when the child gets worse," he added to himself. "When ought we to go?" she asked in a low voice, feeling all at once as though Fate were too strong for her. "Humph! well, suppose we say in a week from now. I will talk to Mr. Logan, and I dare say we can find somebody to take the cottage off your hands. The less leave-taking and fuss the better in such a case, don't you think so, eh?" "If Mr. Logan releases me there will be no difficulty about anything else," she returned quietly, and Dr. Stewart was charmed with her good sense and reasonableness. She forced herself into seeming cheerfulness when the child returned, and they sat down at last to their long-delayed meal. When they had finished she beckoned Emmie to the stool at her feet. "Darling, are you glad?" she began. "Dr. Stewart says that I must take you away to the sea, nothing else will make you strong." "Does he say the sea will make me strong?" asked Emmie curiously, "are you sure that he said that, Queen?" "He said these cold winds will kill you," returned Queenie shuddering, "and that was enough for me. You will not fret at going away, Emmie, we shall be together, and do all sorts of nice things all day long; and when the summer comes, and you are strong again, we can come back here and see all our kind friends." "I hope the summer will not be too long in coming, then," she returned dubiously. "Oh! I wish we had not to leave this dear place, it will be so sad parting with Langley and dear Mr. Garth, and Captain Fawcett, and Miss Cosie, and every one." "Yes; but it will only be for a little time," returned her sister, persuasively, for the child's voice was full of sadness. "Don't you remember, darling, that happy summer at Morecombe Bay, when dear father was alive, and how I helped you to erect great castles on the sand; you were such a little child then, but so strong and merry." "I think I remember a little bit of it, and how the waves used to sing me to sleep." "Yes; and we shall hear the grand old lullaby again. Now listen to me, Emmie, and I will tell you what we will do, you and I. We will go to a grand hotel in London,--we are rich people now, you know,--and we will send for Cathy, and make her spend a long day with us." "Oh, that will be nice," exclaimed Emmie, clapping her hands in her old way. "And shall we have a bright sunny room with a great bow-window looking over the sea, like the rich people we noticed at Morecombe Bay? and shall we ever be able to drive out in a pony carriage?"