Mr. Goodricke was in; and he came back with
me directly.

It was some time before he could make
himself of much use. The poor unfortunate lady
fell out of one fit into another—and went on so,
till she was quite wearied out, and as helpless
as a new-born babe. We then got her to bed.
Mr. Goodricke went away to his house for
medicine, and came back again in a quarter of an
hour or less. Besides the medicine he brought a
bit of hollow mahogany wood with him, shaped
like a kind of trumpet; and, after waiting a little
while, he put one end over the lady's heart and
the other to his ear, and listened carefully.
When he had done, he says to my mistress, who
was in the room, “This is a very serious case,”
he says; “I recommend you to write to Lady
Glyde's friends directly.” My mistress, says to
him, “Is it heart-disease?” And he says “Yes;
heart-disease of a most dangerous kind.” He
told her exactly what he thought was the matter,
which I was not clever enough to understand.
But I know this, he ended by saying that he
was afraid neither his help nor any other doctor's
help was likely to be of much service.

My mistress took this ill news more quietly
than my master. He was a big, fat, odd sort of
elderly man, who kept birds and white mice,
and spoke to them as if they were so many
Christian children. He seemed terribly cut up
by what had happened. “Ah! poor Lady
Glyde! poor dear Lady Glyde!” he says—and
went stalking about, wringing his fat hands more
like a play-actor than a gentleman. For one
question my mistress asked the doctor about the
lady's chances of getting round, he asked a good
fifty at least. I declare he quite tormented us all
—and, when he was quiet at last, out he went into
the bit of back garden, picking trumpery little
nosegays, and asking me to take them up-stairs
and make the sick-room look pretty with them.
As if that did any good! I think he must have
been, at times, a little soft in his head. But he
was not a bad master: he had a monstrous civil
tongue of his own; and a jolly, easy, coaxing
way with him. I liked him a deal better than
my mistress. She was a hard one, if ever there
was a hard one yet.

Towards night-time, the lady roused up a
little. She had been so wearied out, before
that, by the convulsions, that she never stirred
hand or foot, or spoke a word to anybody. She
moved in the bed now; and stared about her at
the room and us in it. She must have been a
nice-looking lady, when well, with light hair,
and blue eyes, and all that. Her rest was
troubled at night—at least so I heard from my
mistress, who sat up alone with her. I only went
in once before going to bed, to see if I could be
of any use; and then she was talking to herself,
in a confused, rambling manner. She seemed to
want sadly to speak to somebody, who was absent
from her somewhere. I couldn't catch the name,
the first time; and the second time master
knocked at the door, with his regular mouthful of
questions, and another of his trumpery nosegays.
When I went in, early the next morning, the
lady was clean worn out again, and lay in a kind
of faint sleep. Mr. Goodricke brought his partner,
Mr. Garth, with him to advise. They said
she must not be disturbed out of her rest, on
any account. They asked my mistress a many
questions, at the other end of the room, about
what the lady's health had been in past times,
and who had attended her, and whether she had
ever suffered much and long together under
distress of mind. I remember my mistress
said “Yes,” to that last question. And Mr.
Goodricke looked at Mr. Garth, and shook his
head; and Mr. Garth looked at Mr. Goodricke,
and shook his head. They seemed to think that
the distress might have something to do with
the mischief at the lady's heart. She was but a
frail thing to look at, poor creature! Very
little strength, at any time, I should say—very
little strength.

Later on the same morning, when she woke,
the lady took a sudden turn, and got seemingly a
great deal better. I was not let in again to see
her, no more was the housemaid, for the reason
that she was not to be disturbed by strangers.
What I heard of her being better was through
my master. He was in wonderful good spirits
about the change, and looked in at the kitchen
window from the garden, with his great big
curly-brimmed white hat on, to go out. “Good
Mrs. Cook,” says he, “Lady Glyde is better.
My mind is more easy than it was; and I am
going out to stretch my big legs with a sunny
little summer walk. Shall I order for you,
shall I market for you, Mrs. Cook? What are
you making there? A nice tart for dinner?
Much crust, if you please—much crisp crust,
my dear, that melts and crumbles delicious in
the mouth.” That was his way. He was past
sixty, and fond of pastry. Just think of that!

The doctor came again in the forenoon, and
saw for himself that Lady Glyde had woke up
better. He forbid us to talk to her, or to let
her talk to us, in case she was that way
disposed; saying she must be kept quiet before
all things, and encouraged to sleep as much as
possible. She did not seem to want to talk
whenever I saw her—except overnight, when
I couldn't make out what she was saying—she
seemed too much worn down. Mr. Goodricke
was not nearly in such good spirits about her
as master. He said nothing when he came
down stairs, except that he would call again at
five o'clock. About that time (which was before
master came home again), the bell rang
hard from the bedroom, and my mistress ran
out into the landing, and called to me to go
for Mr. Goodricke, and tell him the lady had
fainted. I got on my bonnet and shawl, when,
as good luck would have it, the doctor himself
came to the house for his promised visit.

I let him in, and went up-stairs along with
him. “Lady Glyde was just as usual,” says
my mistress to him at the door; “she was
awake, and looking about her, in a strange,
forlorn manner, when I heard her give a sort of
half cry, and she fainted in a moment.” The
doctor went up to the bed, and stooped down