Prue blamed herself for letting the conversation drift in this direction; yet perhaps enough had been said in the other direction. "O yes—I liked sometimes," Lettice answered. "He told me to write and tell him how Sissie was. And he said if we were in trouble, I must let him know." Lettice shut her eyes, and Prue asked no more. Why, indeed, should she? CHAPTER VII. SUMMONED. THE "two or three days" of Lettice's enforced absence from Cecilia's room grew into a fortnight. She was allowed to dress, and even to creep into an adjoining room; but this was the utmost that she could be counted fit for. Prue sometimes wondered whether the strain of being with Cecilia could prove more harmful than the strain of not being with her; but the doctor was firm, and Bertha took his view of the matter. Then upon Cecilia's slight improvement followed a severe relapse; and Lettice's presence was not to be thought of. Lettice submitted; resisting less than earlier. Perhaps the present prohibition seemed natural, since she had been kept away by Mrs. Crofton in the worst phases of Cecilia's first attack; but she grieved over having been forbidden the room when Cecilia was better. Nan would sit staring at her, with light reddened eyes of girlish sympathy; and Prue would say: "No one could know that this was coming on, Lettice, dear." Sometimes Lettice turned from both of them, in her distress, refusing comfort; but later the whispered apology was sure to come: "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be vexed. You are all so kind." During the early part of this fresh relapse, Cecilia was much disposed to wander. She ceased to ask after Lettice, evidently counting her out of reach. Generally she knew who came and went; but it was plain that she kept no count of time. Days might be weeks to her; weeks might be months. There was not a little rambling talk of the past, and her nurses learnt a good deal more of her history than she would willingly have divulged. It was a brokenly-told story, minus many links, containing much of sorrow and disappointment, with hard struggling to keep afloat, but lightened by a spirit of courage, endurance, and proud resolution, also of strong affection. Sometimes she believed herself to be at Dr. Bryant's, and she would then speak distressfully of her obligations to the Valentines, by which she was tried precisely as Felix was tried. Sometimes she knew herself to be still at the Farm, and then she would complain of being hindered from going on to Bristol.