Dreadful question which we have all asked! With neglect and ignorance every terrible loss is alas! possible--but with all that science and all that care can do, with doctors that discover new methods every day, and nursing that never rests, how is it that still they die? Letty had never faced this question before in her life. She sat by the side of her mother, whose mind was tuned to so different a mood, who was calculating in the fullest impulse of new life and activity what she was going to do--and sobbed out her youthful soul at the first sight of that inevitable fate that kings as well as beggars must pass and cannot escape. Agnes got out of her humble cab from the station in the middle of the avenue, and walked the rest of the way to the house. Now that she was so near she pushed off the moment of certainty with the instinct of anxiety. The windows were all open, he was living at least, there was still hope. And even that was a relief. In the hall she found the daily bulletin placed there for inquirers. “No change; strength fairly maintained,” which gave her another shock of acute consolation, if such words can be used. “But I must see him. You know me. I am Lord Frogmore’s aunt,” she cried. “No, I cannot wait till Mrs. Parke comes in. I must see him. I must see him.” The footman called the butler, who did not know how to stop this impetuous visitor; but before he had appeared Agnes had flown upstairs, feeling a freedom in the absence of Letitia which increased the sense of relief. The nurse came to the door of Mar’s room, with her fingers to her lips, as she heard the hasty footstep. It was the cheerful nurse, the optimist, who thought that young patients recover from everything. She perceived in a moment that this was no formal inquiry, and hastened to say that the patient was “no worse.” “You may think that’s not much, but it’s a great deal,” she added, coming out into the outer room. “Oh, nurse, God bless you! I thank you with all my heart!” cried poor Agnes, bursting out, but noiselessly, into a passion of tears. Upon which the cheerful woman shook her head. “We must not go too fast,” she said. “He is very bad. But I have never been one that took the worst side. I’ve seen that kind before; a long, weedy slip of a boy that’s outgrown, you would say, his strength. But they’re stronger than you think for. I say, while there’s life there’s hope.” Agnes Hill had heard these words often before, as we all have done, and looking up through her grateful tears with a fresh _accès_ of misery she said, “Is that all? Oh, is that all?” “The doctor gives him the six weeks,” said the nurse, pursuing her own line of thought, “but I shouldn’t be surprised if there was a change to-morrow or next day. That will be five weeks. I can’t tell you why I think it, but one can’t be so long with a case without forming an opinion. To-morrow night or early on Thursday morning I shouldn’t wonder if the change came.”