“Do you think you could read to me a little? My husband often reads to me when I am nervous and cannot sleep. Anything will do, the simplest child’s story; it is just the sound of the voice that soothes me. What is that book? Oh, the Bible! I am afraid I do not read that enough, I have so little time to myself, and then I am often too tired.” “It is just the book for tired people,” I returned; “if you want a story. I think the history of Ruth is one of the most touching, she has always seemed to me one of the sweetest characters in the Bible; it is a perfect idyll of Oriental life.” “It is so long since I have read it,” she returned, apologetically, “you shall read it to me if you like.” And I read the whole book throughout to her, only pausing now and then to look at Reggie. She listened to it without interrupting me once, but I was rejoiced to see that the strained expression had passed out of her eyes; they looked more natural. “You are right, Merle,” she observed, when I had finished, “it is very beautiful and touching; that was something like love, ‘where thou goest, I will go.’ Now you may read me a psalm, if you are not tired. I like your voice, it is so clear and quiet.” I read to her until she bade me stop; and then we talked a little. I told her an incident or two in my school-days about our nutting expeditions in the Luttrell woods, and how one of our party had strayed and had encountered a gipsy caravan. I was just in the middle of Rose Mervyn’s recital, when I heard measured breathing. She had fallen asleep. I saw a great deal of Mrs. Morton during the next few days. She was very unwell, and Dr. Myrtle insisted on her giving up all her engagements for a week. He spoke very decidedly, and Mr. Morton was obliged to yield to his opinion; but he seemed a little put out. “It is such a pity all those people should be disappointed,” he observed, in a grumbling voice. “Mrs. Granville had quite set her heart on having us both on Thursday. I knew how it would be when you fretted yourself ill last night.” “I could not help it,” she pleaded. “Anderson gave me such a fright; of course, he thought his coming for me was the best, but when I saw his face I thought I should have died with fear.” “Nonsense, Violet, you ought to learn more self-control; you know I dislike to see you give way so entirely. Well, we must abide by Dr. Myrtle’s orders and treat you as an invalid.” “But, Alick,” detaining him as he was turning away, not in the best of humours, as I could see from the night nursery, “I can write for you all the same; the library is quite warm.”