Mary, unless he gives any fresh orders, or Richard thinks it will
only make things worse, I shall be very glad of you.'

Mary had never clung to her so gratefully, nor felt so much honoured.
'Do you think he will have it badly?' she asked timidly.

'I don't think at all about it,' said Ethel, something in her
father's manner. 'If we are to get through all this, Mary, it must
not be by riding out on perhapses. Now let us put Daisy's things
together, for she must have as little communication with home as
possible.'

Ethel silently and rapidly moved about, dreading to give an interval
for tremblings of heart. Five years of family prosperity had passed,
and there had been that insensible feeling of peace and immunity from
care which is strange to look back upon when one hour has drifted
from smooth water to turbid currents. There was a sort of awe in
seeing the mysterious gates of sorrow again unclosed; yet, darling of
her own as Aubrey was, Ethel's first thoughts and fears were
primarily for her father. Grief and alarm seemed chiefly to touch
her through him, and she found herself praying above all that he
might be shielded from suffering, and might be spared a renewal of
the pangs that had before wrung his heart.

By early morning every one was astir; and Gertrude, bewildered and
distressed, yet rather enjoying the fun of staying with Richard, was
walking off with Mary.

Soon after, Dr. Spencer was standing by the bedside of his old
patient, Aubrey, who had been always left to his management.