
is not wonderful that the idea of seeing Rosamond began to mingle itself with
his interest in the case. Especially when the critical stage was passed, and he
began to feel confident of Fred's recovery. In the more doubtful time, he had
advised calling in Dr. Sprague (who, if he could, would rather have remained
neutral on Wrench's account); but after two consultations, the conduct of the
case was left to Lydgate, and there was every reason to make him assiduous.
Morning and evening he was at Mr. Vincy's, and gradually the visits became
cheerful as Fred became simply feeble, and lay not only in need of the utmost
petting but conscious of it, so that Mrs. Vincy felt as if after all the illness
had made a festival for her tenderness.
    Both father and mother held it an added reason for good spirits, when old
Mr. Featherstone sent messages by Lydgate, saying that Fred must make haste and
get well, as he, Peter Featherstone, could not do without him, and missed his
visits sadly. The old man himself was getting bedridden. Mrs. Vincy told these
messages to Fred when he could listen, and he turned towards her his delicate,
pinched face, from which all the thick blond hair had been cut away, and in
which the eyes seemed to have got larger, yearning for some word about Mary -
wondering what she felt about his illness. No word passed his lips; but »to hear
with eyes belongs to love's rare wit,« and the mother in the fulness of her
heart not only divined Fred's longing, but felt ready for any sacrifice in order
to satisfy him.
    »If I can only see my boy strong again,« she said, in her loving folly; »and
who knows? - perhaps master of Stone Court! and he can marry anybody he likes
then.«
    »Not if they won't have me, mother,« said Fred. The illness had made him
childish, and tears came as he spoke.
    »Oh, take a bit of jelly, my dear,« said Mrs. Vincy, secretly incredulous of
any such refusal.
    She never left Fred's side when her husband was not in the house, and thus
Rosamond was in the unusual position of being much alone. Lydgate, naturally,
never thought of staying long with her, yet it seemed that the brief impersonal
conversations they had together were creating that peculiar intimacy which
consists in shyness. They were obliged to look at each other in speaking, and
somehow
