"Dear Colonel Alsager,--Sir Charles received your kind note, but has been too busy to write; so he has asked me to do so, and I comply with very great pleasure. I need hardly say how truly glad we were to hear of the improvement in Sir Peregrine's state, and how earnestly we hope he may completely rally. All things are going on here much as usual. Poor Mr. Hammond is very ill,--failing rapidly, I am sure; this week he is suffering fearfully from bronchitis. They talked of going away, but that is of course impossible. I am a good deal with him, and I think he likes me. Lord Dollamore has come back from town, and is staying here,--doing nothing but lounge about and watch everybody. Is there any chance that we shall have the pleasure of seeing you again if we are detained here much longer? I hoped Charley would have taken me to see my father, who has been ailing this cold spring weather; but I fear the long delay here will prevent that,--he will be impatient to get to town as soon as possible. Pray let us hear from you how Sir Peregrine is. Charley is out, but I know I may add his kindest regards to my own.--Yours, dear Colonel Alsager, always sincerely, "Georgina Mitford. "P.S. I have not forgotten your advice for a minute, nor ceased to act upon it, and to thank you for it from my heart. But--it is so difficult to write upon this subject--difficult to me to write on any, for, as you know, I am not clever, unfortunately for me. Could you not come?" Laurence read and re-read this simple letter with unspeakable pain and keen irrepressible delight. She trusted him; she thought of him; she wished for his presence! Could he not come? she asked. No; he could not. But supposing he could--ought he? Well, he was a brave man and a true, and he faced that question also. How he answered it remains to be seen. The days passed at Knockholt Park, and resembled each other very closely. Laurence saw a good deal of Cuthbert Farleigh, and liked him much. He wondered a little, after the manner of men, at the content yielded by a life so unlike his own, or any that his fancy had ever painted; but if he and the curate did not sympathize, they coalesced. Laurence wrote again to, and heard again from, Lady Mitford.