"So it is with Terry de Lancey," said Julius; "he is certainly less feverish to-day;" but there was no corresponding tone of gladness in the voice, though he added, "Cecil is going on well too." "And--" Poor Lenore's heart died within her; she could only press his arm convulsively, and he had mercy on her. "Frank's illness has been different in character from the others," he said; "the fever has run much higher, and has affected the brain more, and the throat is in a very distressing state; but Dr. Worth still does not think there are specially dangerous symptoms, and is less anxious about him than Raymond." "Ah! is it true?" "He does not seem as ill as Frank; but there have been bleedings at the nose, which have brought him very low, and which have hitherto been the worst symptoms," and here the steady sadness of his voice quivered a little. Lenore uttered a cry of dismay, and murmured, "Your mother?" "She is absorbed in him. Happily, she can be with him constantly. They seem to rest in each other's presence, and not to look forward." "And Cecil?" "It has taken the lethargic turn with Cecil. She is almost always asleep, and is now, I believe, much better; but in truth we have none of us been allowed to come near her. Her maid, Grindstone, has taken the sole charge, and shuts us all out, for fear, I believe, of our telling her how ill Raymond is." "Oh, I know Grindstone." "Who looks on us all as enemies. However, Raymond has desired us to write to her father, and he will judge when he comes." They were almost at the place of parting. Eleonora kept her hand on his arm, longing for another word, nay, feeling that without it her heart would burst. "Who is with Frank?" "Anne. She hardly ever leaves him. She is our main-stay at the Hall." "Is he ever sensible?" she faintly asked. "He has not been really rational for nearly ten days now." "If--if--oh! you know what I mean. Oh! gain his pardon for me!" and she covered her face with her hand. "Poor Frank!--it is of your pardon that he talks. Tell me, Eleonora, did you ever receive a letter from my mother?" "Never. Where was it sent?" she said, starting. "To Revelrig. It was written the day after the ball." "I never went to Revelrig. Oh! if I could have spoken to you first I should have been saved from so much that was wrong. No one knew where I was." "No, not till Sister Margaret told Herbert Bowater that her sisters had been at a ball at the town-hall the week before. Then he saw she was Miss Strangeways, and asked if she knew where you were." "Ah, yes! disobedience--tacit deception--temper. Oh! they have brought their just punishment. But that letter!" "I think it was to explain poor Frank's conduct at the races. Perhaps, as the servants at Revelrig had no knowledge of you, it may have been returned, and my mother's letter have been left untouched. I will see."