ement."

"But if it did not hurt her then, why should it hurt her again?
There's old General M'Kinnon, my father's old friend, who runs about
everywhere in a wheeled-chair with a leg-rest; and I can't think why
she should not do the same."

Raymond smiled kindly on her, but rather sadly; perhaps he was
recollecting his morning's talk about the occupancy of the drawing-
room. "You know it is her spine," he said.

"So it is with him. His horse rolled over him at Sebastopol, and he
has never walked since. I wanted to write to Mary M'Kinnon; but
Julius said I had better talk to you, because he was only at home
for a fortnight, when she was at the worst, and you knew more about
it."

"Yes," said Raymond, understanding more than the Irish tongue fully
expressed. "I never saw a woman sit better than she did, and she
looked as young and light in the saddle as you could, till that day,
when, after the rains, the bank where the bridle-path to Squattles
End was built up, gave way with the horse's feet, and down she went
twenty feet, and was under the horse when Miles and I got down to
her! We brought her on a mattress to that room, not knowing whether
she were alive; and she has never moved out of it! It was agony to
her to be touched."

"Yes but it can't be that now. Was not that three years ago?"

"Not so much. Two and a half. We had Hayter down to see her, and
he said perfect rest was the only chance for her."

"And has not he seen her lately?"

"He died last winter; and old Worth, who comes in once a week to
look at her, is not fit for more than a little watching and
attention. I dare say we all have learnt to acquiesce too much in
her present state, and that more might be done. You see she has
never had a lady's care, except now and then Jenny Bowater's."

"I do feel sure she could bear more now," said Rosamond, eagerly.
"It would be such a thing if she could only be moved about that
down-stairs floor."

"And be with us at meals and in the evening," said Raymond, his face
lightening up. "Thank you, Rosamond!"

"I'll write to Mary M'Kinnon to-morrow, to ask about the chair,"
cried Rosamond; and Raymond, hearing the door-bell, hurried down, to
find his wife standing alone over the drawing-room fire, not very
complacent.

"Where have you been, Raymond?"

"I was talking to Rosamond. She has seen a chair on which it might
be possible to move my mother about on this floor."

"I thought--" Cecil flus