At length there came a morning, early in the autumn of the same year as that in which John Brancker was committed to take his trial for the murder of Mr. Hazeldine, when Miss Letitia found herself unable to rise from her bed. She had been ailing for some time from the effects of a bad cold, but during the last few days the symptoms had become considerably aggravated, and now she could hold up no longer. Miss Pengarvon had hinted more than once as to the advisability of calling in Doctor Bland, but this Miss Letitia had emphatically begged of her not to do. Neither she nor her sister had known a day's illness in their lives; her cold was a simple affair which a few days would put to rights; no Doctor had set foot in Broome since the late Lady Pengarvon's death, now nearly forty years ago; and after the lapse of so long a time she was not going to be the first to have one called in. She well remembered that Doctor Grantley's bill on the occasion of his attendance on Lady Pengarvon amounted to thirty guineas, yet, after all, his patient died. Doctors were an extravagance in which only rich people had a right to indulge. But although Miss Letitia refused to see a Doctor, Joanna Dale, despite all her remonstrances, insisted on lighting a fire in the sick lady's chamber. Miss Letitia was terribly afraid her sister would look upon even that small luxury as a piece of wasteful extravagance, and her first words to Miss Pengarvon, when the latter went upstairs to see her, were, "It is all Joanna's doing. She would insist on my having a fire." Miss Pengarvon let her cold hand rest for a moment or two on her sister's fevered forehead, and then she said in her usual quiet way, "If Joanna had been a woman of sense, she would have gone and fetched Doctor Bland without saying a word to anyone, as soon as she had lighted your fire." Miss Letitia stared at her sister, and then in a little while she said to herself, "Barbara must fancy that I'm far worse than I am, or she would not talk about a doctor in that off-hand kind of way." As it fell out, however, no doctor was sent for till the following morning. Miss Pengarvon herself made her sister some gruel after a recipe in her mother's writing, which she hunted up out of a cupboard of odds-and-ends. Miss Letitia thought it exceedingly kind of Barbara, and drank a little of the gruel gratefully. It was not nearly so nice as the gruel Joanna had made her, but not for worlds would she have said so to anyone. When at length Doctor Bland was called in, he seemed to think that his patient was suffering from nothing worse than a feverish cold. He advised her to keep her bed for the present, sent her a composing draught, and promised to call again next day.