"Dr. Rotherbotham may be mistaken. It is all nonsense, Lettice. Just when she is getting on so well! Going to Bristol will make her stronger than she has been for a year past. Now mind, if you don't put this ridiculous idea out of your head, I'll give you such scolding that you'll never forget it. Sissie knows nothing whatever about the matter—or Dr. Rotherbotham either. It's absurd. Look up, and give me a smile." Lettice obeyed. She smiled bravely-and Felix was satisfied; not noting how quickly her head was turned away again. For himself, the instinct of his vigorous youth was to refuse to look in the face any such possibility. Why should not Cecilia recover? Why should death touch him or his? He would not believe in any such coming calamity. CHAPTER III. A NEW ACQUAINTANCE. "I SHOULD like to help you, but how can I, if you do not tell me your trouble? Try to think of me as a friend," Mr. Kelly had said. Lettice pondered over these words in the days following,—days full of preparation for the journey. To other people it might seem that the whole bulk of the Andersons' possessions was not large enough to give trouble. Yet after six years' stay in one house, though only in lodgings, things could not have failed to accumulate. Where each item had to be considered, with reference to taking or leaving, much time might be consumed. Cecilia was forbidden all needless exertion. She had to lie on her couch and direct others: and with the nervous excitement, not uncommon in ill health, she could know no rest. The near separation from Felix pressed upon her unceasingly; and relief from thought in bodily action was denied. Lettice had enough to do, those days, carrying out her sister's wishes. She did it all uncomplainingly; toiled upstairs and downstairs; packed, unpacked, and repacked, to any extent. And had it not been for the weight of her new knowledge as to Cecilia's state, she would have done it all blithely, as well as uncomplainingly. That made all the difference. Courage did not fail now, but blitheness did. The strain of keeping up told upon her a good deal. She was cheerful enough, almost too cheerful, in Cecilia's presence; and Cecilia was jarred by this, even while noting a certain unnatural strain of manner. "I should like to help you," Mr. Kelly had said; and Lettice wondered what kind of help he meant. Suppose she were to tell him all, as he had suggested; to open out the dread which had fallen upon her life. Lettice was to some extent reserved, but it was by training, not by nature. The desire for sympathy and help from another grew upon her in those days. To break through Cecilia's barrier of silence she felt to be an utter impossibility; and Felix had refused to accept the truth—had almost refused to hear what she had to say.