And then she crept away, leaving Halcott the maid in attendance, sitting at her work at the window furthest from the bed.
'Alone with my thoughts,' mused Lady Maulevrier, looking out at the panorama of wintry hills, white, ghost-like against an iron sky.
'Pleasant thoughts, truly! Walled in by the hills--walled in and hemmed round for ever.

This place has always felt like a grave: and now I know that it _is_ my grave.' Fraeulein, and Lady Mary, and the maid Halcott, a sedate personage of forty summers, had all been instructed by the doctor that Lady Maulevrier was to be kept profoundly quiet.

She must not talk much, since speech was likely to be a painful effort with her for some little time; she must not be talked to much by anyone, least of all must she be spoken to upon any agitating topic.

Life must be made as smooth and easy for her as for a new-born infant.

No rough breath from the outer world must come near her.