Left alone with her mother, Louisa saw her lying with an awful lull upon her face, like one who was floating away upon some great water, all resistance over, content to be carried down the stream. She put the shadow of a hand to her lips again, and recalled her.

“You were going to speak to me, mother.”

“Eh? Yes, to be sure, my dear. You know your father is almost always away now, and therefore I must write to him about it.”

“About what, mother? Don’t be troubled. About what?”

“You must remember, my dear, that whenever I have said anything, on any subject, I have never heard the last of it: and consequently, that I have long left off saying anything.”

“I can hear you, mother.” But, it was only by dint of bending down to her ear, and at the same time attentively watching the lips as they moved, that she could link such faint and broken sounds into any chain of connection.