Mr Bevis said some texts and soon went away, but that one sentence remained in Susan's mind and made her more miserable than ever. A thread! It was such a thin, weak thing to hang on, and if it snapped where would Sophia Jane's life be? Perhaps it would break soon, that very night, before she could see her again and ask her pardon. It was such a dreadful thought that Susan was unable to keep it to herself any longer. She shut her eyes, said her evening prayer all through, and at the end added very earnestly: "Don't let it break. _Please_ don't let it break." Then Margaretta came rushing into the sitting-room where Susan was curled up in the window seat. She looked pale and frightened. "Where's Aunt Hannah?" she said. "Just gone out of the room," answered Susan. "Oh!" she added, "_do_ tell me--is Sophia Jane worse?" "I don't know," said Margaretta hurriedly. "I want aunt. She ought to see her; I think perhaps she would send for Dr Martin again." Dr Martin was sent for, and came, but he did not give much comfort. "You can't do anything," he said, "but try and keep up her strength. A great deal will depend on the next few hours." From her lonely corner Susan watched and waited all that wretched evening, and, not daring to ask questions, stayed there, chill with misery, until long past her usual bed-time. At last Buskin came to find her. Wonder of wonders! there were tears in Buskin's eyes, and Susan was encouraged by this display of softness to stretch out her arms to her for comfort, and whisper, "Will she get better?" "The Lord only knows, my dear," answered Buskin gruffly; "_we're_ all in His hands." CHAPTER SIX. SOPHIA JANE POSTS A LETTER, AND SUSAN PAYS A VISIT. Susan remained awake a long, long time that night listening with strained ears to the subdued noises in the house. She heard Dr Martin come and go away again, his boots creaking softly on each stair; she heard Aunt Hannah's voice, mysterious and low, wishing him good-night, and after that the shutting of the door. Then a great stillness seemed to fall over everything, and she went to sleep at last. When she next opened her eyes the darkness was over--here was bright daylight again, and Buskin drawing up her blind. The first words she heard were like part of a dream: "She's had a beautiful sleep, and the fever's taken a turn." Susan rubbed her eyes to be quite sure she was awake, and that the good news was true. "The doctor's been already this morning," continued Buskin, coming up to the bedside, "and he says she'll do now with care."