fected. Dr. Trotman,
however, is uncheerful about him--is what medical men call '_cautious_'
in giving an opinion, observing that, though _at present_ he is not in
danger, the delicacy of his constitution gives room for great
apprehension in the case of the least turning towards relapse. Robert
had been up with him during eight nights, and Isa Blagden eight nights.
Nothing can exceed her devotion to him by night or day. We have
persuaded her, however, at last to call in a nurse for the nights. I am
afraid for Robert, and in fact a trained nurse can do certain things
better than the most zealous and tender friend can pretend to do. You
may suppose how saddened we all are. Dear Lytton! At intervals he talks
and can hear reading, but this morning he is lower again. In fact, from
the first he has been very apprehensive about himself--inclined to talk
of divine things, of the state of his soul and God's love, and to hold
this life but slackly.

I feel I am writing a horrible account to you. You will conclude the
worst from it, and that is what I don't want you to do. The pulse has
never been high, and is now much lower, and if he can be kept from a
relapse he will live. I pray God he may live. He is not altered in the
face, and Dr. Trotman reiterated this morning, 'There _is no_ danger at
present.'

You are better. I thank God for it. Oh, yes, it is very beautiful, that
cathedral. The weather here is cool and enjoyable by day even. At nights
it is really cold, and I _have_ thought of a blanket once or twice as of
a thing tolerable. I will write again when there is a change. The course
of the fever may extend to six days more.

Your ever most affectionate
BA.

* * * * *

_To Mrs. Jameson_

Thursday, [end of August 1857].

Dearest Friend,--I think it better to inclose to you this letter which
has come to your address. Thank you for your kind words about Lytton,
which will be very soothing to him. He continues better, and is
preparing to take his first drive to-day, for half an hour, with his
_nurse_ and Robert. See how weak he must be, and the hollow cheeks and
temples remain as signs of the past. Still, he is convalescent, and
begins to think of poems and apple puddings in a manner other than
celestial. I do thank God that our anxieties have ended so.

Robert bathes in the river every morning, which does him great good;
besides the rides at mornings and evenings on mountain ponies w