But my lady was not one to speak out her feelings on the subject; nor was I one to forget myself, and begin on a topic which she did not begin.

She came to me, and was very tender with me; so tender, that that, and the thoughts of Mr.Gray's sick, hopeless, disappointed look, nearly made me cry.
"You are tired, little one," said my lady.

"Go and lie down in my room, and hear what Medlicott and I can decide upon in the way of strengthening dainties for that poor young man, who is killing himself with his over- sensitive conscientiousness." "Oh, my lady!" said I, and then I stopped.
"Well.

What ?" asked she.
"If you would but let him have Farmer Hale's barn at once, it would do him more good than all." "Pooh, pooh, child!" though I don't think she was displeased, "he is not fit for more work just now.

I shall go and write for Dr.Trevor." And for the next half-hour, we did nothing but arrange physical comforts and cures for poor Mr.Gray.