Than Laura Grey, no one could have been more scrupulously careful. She could not have prevented, even if she had suspected the possibility of such a thing, her stealing out of bed now and then to look at her sick sparrow. All this injustice was, however, but the raving of his grief. In poor little Nelly's room my father's affectionate nature was convulsed with sorrow. When he came down I cried with him for a long time. I think this affliction has drawn us nearer. He was more tender to me than I ever remembered him before. At last the ghastly wait and suspense were ended. I saw no more strange faces in the lobbies; and the strange voices on the stairs and footsteps in the room, and the muffled sounds that made me feel faint, were heard no more. The funeral was over, and pretty Nelly was gone for ever and ever, and I would come in and go out and read my books, and take my walks alone; and the flowers, and the long summer evenings, and the song of birds would come again, and the leaves make their soft shadow in the nooks where we used to sit together in the wood, but gentle little Nelly would never come again. During these terrible days, Laura Grey was a sister to me, both in affection and in sorrow. Oh, Laura, can I ever forget your tender, patient sympathy? How often my thoughts recall your loved face as I lay my head upon my lonely pillow, and my blessings follow you over the wide sea to your far-off home! Papa took a long solitary ride that day through the warren, and away by Penruthyn Priory, and did not return till dark. When he did, he sent for me. I found him in the room which, in the old-fashioned style, was called the oak parlour. A log-fire--we were well supplied from the woods in the rear of the house--lighted the room with a broad pale flicker. My father was looking ill and tired. He was leaning with his elbow on the mantel-piece, and said: "Ethel, darling, I want to know what you would like best. We are going abroad for a little time; it is the only thing for your mamma. This place would kill her. I shall be leaving this to-morrow afternoon, and you can make up your mind which you would like best--to come with us and travel for some months, or to wait here, with Miss Grey, until our return. You shall do precisely whatever you like best--I don't wish you to hurry yourself, darling. I'd rather you thought it over at your leisure." Then he sat down and talked about other things; and turned about to the fire with his decanter of sherry by him, and drank a good many glasses, and leaned back in his chair before he had finished it. My father, I thought, was dozing, but was not sure; and being a good deal in awe of him--a natural consequence of seeing so little of him--I did not venture either to waken him, or to leave the room without his permission.