"Thanks. Yes. I am better. As much better as—" She hesitated, looking sharply at the clergyman. Had Dr. Rotherbotham informed him as to her true state? Mr. Kelly's unconscious face seemed to supply a negative. "As much better as I can expect to be," she said. "In so short a time, you mean. I fear it will be long before you are fit for hard work again." "Yes." An odd impulse seized her to tell him all; odd, because she did not care for Mr. Kelly; but no doubt there was a natural desire for sympathy: she had nobody else to turn to; and she, like Mr. Kelly, believed that they were alone. The impulse seemed to her foolish, and she resisted it. What good would speaking do? "Yes," she repeated, "I am going to make my home for a time with my uncle in the west of England. Lettice, too, of course. Felix is more or less provided for, thanks to you. I am not likely at present to be strong enough for work: and my uncle has offered to take us in." "I am glad to hear it. Is his name Anderson?" "No; Bryant. He is my mother's only brother. A medical man; but I suppose he has not practised for twenty years." "And you have not seen him lately." "I have never seen him." She offered no explanation of the fact. "It will be a trial to you to leave Felix." "A trial!" She could have laughed, the word was so inadequate. Life, apart from Felix, would be mere existence, not life. "One has to bear what is inevitable." "And God's will is always best for us in these matters: even when it means sorrow." "Perhaps. I do not know anything about its being best. I only know that it has to be . . . If I could stay with him till the end! So short a time!" The words broke from her, under pressure of strong feeling. "If I could; but that is out of the question." She tried to rein herself in, to resume her usual manner, though her hands shook visibly. "I do not know why I should say all this," she went on, after a pause. "Nobody can do anything. It is not my way to appeal to other people. If I had not been upset—shaken—The thought that all must soon be over! To leave Felix, not knowing if I shall ever—But such partings have to be borne, of course. They are a part of life . . . And I have great comfort in knowing that the boy will do well. No doubt of that. He is so hard-working: so bent on success." Mr. Kelly had been startled by the unexpected outbreak of distress, and thus far had said nothing. Perhaps his wordless sympathy drew her on further than speech could have done: but this he did not see. He was already reproaching himself for a lost opportunity, grieving over his own want of readiness: and any number of possible utterances, exactly to the point, rushed into his mind, too late. He found himself saying mechanically: "I will do my best to look after your brother for you." "Thanks; but I am not at all afraid for Felix. He has good principles." Then, as if suspecting Mr. Kelly's line of thought, she talked steadily about Felix's new work.