After all, it might not have been true: since the other half of the tale was not. If the other half of the tale were not! Mr. Kelly doubted again here. Prue might have been engaged, as report had said, and the engagement might have been broken off. The little note told nothing. It was friendly, but calm and distant. Only—that quiver in the signature stirred him. Yet, why should it mean anything? Somebody might have touched her elbow as she wrote. He thought of Prue by day, and he dreamt of Prue by night; and he worked harder, neglecting none of his clerical and parochial duties, but rather throwing a fresh fervour into them. He wrote a brief line of thanks to Prue, not too warmly expressed, hoping "some day to see them all again." Prue's heart leaped in silent response to the hope: and there the matter stood still. Mr. Kelly took no further steps—though she was nearly thirty, and he nearly forty. He was not sure what he wished. As Felix had feared, Mr. Jasper stepped in, ordering delay for Lettice—naturally enough, as she had not left her room since Cecilia's death. Lettice could hardly have told whether she were most grieved or relieved. She dreaded leaving these kind friends, to go among fresh strangers: yet the one fixed desire of her mind was to carry out Cecilia's will, and to do what Felix wished. Each day spent at the Farm was in contravention of both these aims. Another three weeks in the house, however, did good, bringing strength to body and mind. Her sorrow and fragility made them all set her apart as something to be cared for and tenderly guarded. Mrs. Valentine gave her motherliness: Prue and Bertha looked to health and spirits: Nan crouched at her feet in blundering devotion. But the one of them all who understood her best, the one to whom she could turn freely for comfort, was Wallace. Nobody understood why. He had been until now a mere overgrown clumsy boy, with his mother's affectionate disposition, but with an excess of his father's bluntness and angularity. During this month, he grew fast towards becoming a thoughtful man. So soon as Lettice was released from her bedroom, she found Wallace waiting for her. No matter what had to be done, he was never busy if Lettice wanted him. Every change in the little pale face was noted by him, and not even the trained Bertha was so quick to read it. He would sit by her side, and read aloud or keep silence, by the hour together, sometimes giving only a dumb sympathy which comforted Lettice more than aught else, sometimes drawing her out to say what she thought and felt. "Lettice, you must not go yet. I can't spare you!" he said one evening. Mr. Jasper had at length granted leave for "early next week," and an escort had been found in the shape of a farmer's wife, going to Bristol. A letter was to be written next day to Dr. Bryant, telling him when to expect Lettice.