When morning came, Mrs.Maylie's predictions were but too well verified.

Rose was in the first stage of a high and dangerous fever.
'We must be active, Oliver, and not give way to useless grief,' said Mrs.Maylie, laying her finger on her lip, as she looked steadily into his face; 'this letter must be sent, with all possible expedition, to Mr.Losberne.

It must be carried to the market-town: which is not more than four miles off, by the footpath across the field: and thence dispatched, by an express on horseback, straight to Chertsey.

The people at the inn will undertake to do this: and I can trust to you to see it done, I know.' Oliver could make no reply, but looked his anxiety to be gone at once.
'Here is another letter,' said Mrs.Maylie, pausing to reflect; 'but whether to send it now, or wait until I see how Rose goes on, I scarcely know.

I would not forward it, unless I feared the worst.' 'Is it for Chertsey, too, ma'am ?' inquired Oliver; impatient to execute his commission, and holding out his trembling hand for the letter.
'No,' replied the old lady, giving it to him mechanically.