Emma took Janetta home, and weary and worn out, she laid herself down upon her own bed, and there dropped into a heavy slumber. In consequence of her non-appearance at the dinner table, Elizabeth went in search of her, and rousing her up, persuaded her to attempt coming down stairs, though Emma, at first, felt so totally unequal to the exertion, that she declared she could not stir.

"Jane is so very cross to-day," remonstrated Elizabeth; "I am sure I do not know what is the matter with her, but she seems so very angry about something or other, that if you can contrive to come down you will save a great deal of after trouble. Is your head really so very bad; you do look rather ill certainly, but you need not eat, only just try to sit at table."

Slowly and languidly Emma rose from her bed; her head ached so intensely that she could scarcely raise her eyes; an iron band appeared to be compressing her forehead, and seemed every moment to increase in pressure. She tried to arrange her hair, and her dress, disordered by lying on the bed, but felt incapable of the exertion; leaning on Elizabeth's arm, she descended to the dining-parlour, and took her seat at the table. Robert offered to help her to some meat, but Emma declined eating. Jane never condescended to lift her eyes until the table was cleared, and then she sarcastically observed—

"I am extremely sorry, Miss Emma Watson, that there is nothing on my table good enough for you to eat to-day; shall I send over to the pastry-cook's, and see if he has any little delicacies to tempt your fastidious appetite? I am not so unreasonable as to expect a young lady like you to dine on roast mutton and plain pudding."

"I am not very well," replied Emma, "and have no appetite to-day; but it is my own misfortune, not the fault of your dinner, I am sure."

"Upon my word you honor my table with a very pretty costume," eyeing Emma fixedly, "may I ask how long it has been your fashion to have your hair awry in that way, and your gown tumbled—do you come out of your bed, or have you been indulging in an interesting game of romps?"

Robert looked at Emma, and even he was struck with the appearance of suffering; and coupling with it the fact that she had eaten no dinner, and moreover, feeling rather cross with his wife, he began to defend her, desiring Jane not to worry his sister, as it was evident she was very far from well. Mrs. Watson fired up at this. She wondered what people could mean speaking to ladies that way—she was sure they must quite forget who they were addressing—as to what she said to Emma, she wondered what she should be forbidden to say next! "Really it was too good, if she might not find fault with a girl like Emma in her own house, and at her own table too! She supposed the next thing she should hear, would be that Emma sat there to find fault with her. Her manners, her dress, her general behaviour would be called into question; if Emma gave her approbation no doubt, she should be right—she only hoped she should not be obliged to adopt the elegant negligence of Miss Emma Watson's present style—it was not to her taste she was afraid she must confess.

"Emma has really a very bad headache," interposed Elizabeth, "and would be much better in bed."

"Then pray, let her to go to bed," cried Jane, tossing her head; "who wants her to sit up? not I, I am sure; she may go to bed if she likes; but, if she thinks I am going to call in a doctor for her, she is very much mistaken; I will indulge no such whims and fancies."

Emma gladly availed herself of the permission to retire thus graciously accorded, and Elizabeth accompanied her up-stairs and assisted her to undress; neither would she leave her until summoned down to tea; even then, the temptation of Mr. Millar coming in, could not detain her from Emma's room; she told him how ill her sister was, and she returned to sit by her bedside, and attempt, by cool applications, to allay the burning, throbbing pain in her head, which Emma complained almost drove her mad. But she showed no symptoms of amendment, and towards morning she was in a decided fever. Elizabeth, who had sat up with her all night, now pressed her to consent to see Mr. Morgan—the name made her shudder, and she resolutely refused to do so. She declared she was not very ill—nothing more than her sister's skill could alleviate; but that to see Mr. Morgan would infallibly make her worse. Elizabeth thought this rather odd, but she let her have her own way, and said no more about the doctor. Mrs. Watson began to be frightened, when she found that Emma was really very ill; she too then proposed her seeing the doctor; but with more moderation, though with equal firmness Emma rejected her proposal, as she had done that of Elizabeth.

She only wished to see Mr. Bridge—but she had not energy or courage to request an interview with him; she lay in a kind of half-dreamy state, during the greater part of that day and the next; then Elizabeth thought her worse, and without asking her any more on the subject she went to Robert—and with tears in her eyes, entreated that some advice might be sent for—as otherwise, she felt sure Emma would die. This startled Robert—it would have been so exceedingly unpleasant—it would have interfered sadly with Margaret's marriage—and in several other ways would have greatly inconvenienced himself. Accordingly, he decided at once, that Mr. Morgan should be called in, and so he was. Emma was in too profound a state of stupor to notice him, or to be aware of what was passing beside her bed. She did wake a little at the sound of voices, but she could not guess whose they were; they seemed to her even a great way off—though, in reality, close to her; he might hold her hand now, she could not withdraw it; nay, when he put back the dark hair from her brow, and laid his hand on her temples to count the throbbing of the pulse there—she made no resistance now—she was unconscious of his touch. He was not alarmed about her, though he saw she was really ill—too ill for him to flatter his vanity with the idea that it was affected for the sake of seeing him; but he felt sure she would recover, and greatly consoled Elizabeth by his lively hopes on this subject. Nevertheless, he came to see her twice that evening, and early again the next morning. On neither visit did he find her sufficiently conscious to recognise him—but she gradually began to amend—and on waking from a prolonged slumber on the afternoon of the third day, she was sufficiently restored to the use of her faculties, to enquire of Elizabeth, whether any one had been attending her during the intervening time. Her sister, without circumlocution, told her how often Mr. Morgan had seen her, and added, that he was to come again that evening. Emma appeared excessively discomposed, and asked her if she could not prevent his coming; persisting that she did not want to see any doctor, and that, if she were only left alone, she should soon be well.

Miss Watson, who considered this merely as a fancy belonging to her state of disease, tried to avoid giving her a direct answer, and when she found this would not satisfy her, she endeavoured to persuade Emma of the unreasonable nature of her request, and ended by saying she would see what could be done for her. Of course Mr. Morgan came at the time appointed, end she was obliged to bear it, though the very sight of him threw her into such a state of agitation that his feeling her pulse was perfectly useless and only served to mislead him. He had, however, too much penetration not to discover quickly that his presence caused the feverish symptoms which at first alarmed him; he would gladly have persuaded himself that they indicated partiality, but not even his vanity could so far mislead him. The averted eye, the constrained voice, the cold composed look which wore the expression of her real feelings, told him a very different tale. He felt that he had lost ground in her good opinion, though he could not exactly tell why or how, and still less did he know how to recover it. His visit was short, and his conversation confined entirely to professional subjects, and he took his leave of her with a bow which was intended to express a profound mixture of admiration and respect towards her, mingled with regret, self-reproach, humility and penitence on his part. If any bow could have conveyed so much meaning, it would certainly have been his, and it did undoubtedly express the utmost that a bow could do. Emma drew a long breath when he was gone, and whispered,

"I wish he would never come again."

Elizabeth tried seriously to convince her that she was exceedingly unjust, and pressed her to name any fault she could find with Mr. Morgan, of her own knowledge, not speaking merely from hear-say. Emma's nerves were not in a state to bear argument, and instead of answering she began to cry, and went off in a fit of hysterics which Elizabeth had great difficulty in soothing away.

The next morning Emma requested Elizabeth to procure her a visit from Mr. Bridge; she could not rest longer without an interview, and she now felt strong enough to make her wishes known. She would not allow any reference to be made to Jane, but sent a request, in her own name, that he would call on her, and when this request was complied with, as it speedily was, she sent Elizabeth out of the room that she might have an unreserved conversation with her old friend.

Her first question to him was whether he had as yet done anything towards procuring her removal from Croydon. He believed that she must recover her health before anything could be done with that view. But she so earnestly assured him that she should regain strength with twice the rapidity if he would only let her know what he proposed to do, that he told her to set her mind at ease, as he had already arranged a plan for her comfort. He had a sister, a single lady, residing about fourteen miles from Croydon, and if she liked to go and pass a few weeks with her, she would be sure of retirement and tranquillity with every comfort that could be desired.

Emma was delighted with the idea; she was certain she should like Miss Bridge, and that nothing could be more agreeable than residing in the country quite retired and with only one pleasant companion. There she should continue, she trusted, until Miss Osborne renewed her solicitations for her society, and even after that visit was paid she might return there. She pictured to herself how she would engage in a thousand useful and agreeable occupations, and how she would love the charming old lady on whom she would attend with unremitting zeal. She declared that she felt herself increasing every moment in strength by the contemplation of such a residence, and she trusted that she should soon be out of sight and sound of Mr. Morgan and all the inquisitorial residents of Croydon—how soon should she be able to go?

This Mr. Bridge told her depended entirely on the state of her health; as soon as she could be moved with safety he would take her in his own carriage half of the way, where his sister would meet her and convey her the other half.

"Oh, let it be to-morrow!" cried she; "I am sure I shall be well enough—my strength is greater than you think."

"Well well, we will ask the doctor," replied he.

"Do not ask Mr. Morgan anything about it," said Emma flushing again deeply. "I do not want to have anything to do with him that I can help. I believe it was one thing that made me ill, because they would have him to visit me."

"Come, be reasonable," said he smiling; "if you talk in that way I shall think you light-headed. Now I must leave you; I will see you again to-morrow morning, and if I find you well enough, will send word to my sister at once and settle your plans."

He took leave, and was quitting the room when he met Elizabeth returning, and Emma anxious that her sister should immediately participate in her pleasant prospects, begged him if he could spare a few minutes more to stop and explain their plans. Miss Watson of course was very much pleased at hearing what he had to tell, and immediately saw all the advantages to Emma which such a removal would procure, except the one principal one, which was the secret source of her sister's eagerness to put it in execution. But she had never heard a syllable of the reports which had been so industriously circulated relative to Emma and Mr. Morgan, and was very far from imagining he could in any way, either as an object of love or of hatred, influence her feelings or proceedings. She admitted that it was in every way desirable that Emma should have a peaceful and comfortable home, and the only thing she stipulated for was, that she should return to Croydon as soon as she herself could offer her an equally comfortable abode in her own house. This point Emma did not feel disposed to dispute, though she secretly entered a protest against returning to Croydon for a residence if she could in any way avoid it.

She proved herself right in her anticipations that the relief to her mind would be of essential service to her body; she was so very much better the next morning as to be able to leave her bed-room, and sit up some time in Janetta's nursery, and here she was, with her little niece standing beside her, and no one else in the room, when Mr. Morgan was suddenly ushered in.

She received him with a calm self-possession which astonished herself, and, at the same time, a degree of frigid composure which seemed to imply that the past, both of good and evil, was swept from her mind, that she had to begin again in her acquaintance with him, and meant only to recognise him in future as the doctor, and not the friend. It was in vain that he sat beside her, and in his most winning tones tried to establish confidence between them; she was perfectly calm and composed, but impenetrably grave, yielding to neither tenderness nor gaiety, and he was just rising to go when she made her first suggestive observation, by telling him that she was so much better she should be able to take a drive to-morrow. He assented, of course, if the weather was favorable, and added, that as her sister had no carriage he hoped he might be allowed to take her out in his. With sincere pleasure at being able to decline it, Emma thanked him, assuring him it was quite unnecessary, as Mr. Bridge had promised her his. He looked disappointed; he could not bear that she should have any friends but himself: what would he have felt, had he known the real object of the drive in question.

His departure, which Emma had thought most unnecessarily delayed, left her at liberty to think about Mr. Bridge's promised visit; she had long to wait, he came delighted to see her better, and quite willing to acknowledge that she might be removed the next day. The necessary arrangements he undertook to make; he could send his sister word that she might expect them, and he determined to drive over the whole way himself, and spend one night at her house. He likewise agreed to go and inform her own brother and his wife of what was about to take place, and thereby save Emma all excitement, if the information should happen to be ill received.

Accordingly, in persuance of this plan, he paid Mrs. Watson a visit before leaving the house, and in answer to his gentle tap at the door, received an invitation to enter, which brought him into an extremely untidy and heated parlour. Jane was sitting over the fire with her feet on the fender, her gown turned up over her knees, and her petticoat emitting a strong smell of scorching, which almost overpowered him. She was reading a work of some kind, which she hid behind her when she saw her visitor, whilst she tried to arrange her hair and cap in a rather less slatternly way. Margaret was busy trimming a hat with white satin ribbons, and judging from the shreds of white materials of divers kinds lying beside her, had been deeply engrossed in the dress-making or millinery line. After sitting a few minutes, Mr. Bridge enquired if he could see Mr. Watson, and though his wife was quite certain it was impossible, it so happened that Robert entered at that very time.

"I am so glad to see you," said Mr. Bridge on shaking hands with him, "I wanted to get your leave to carry off your youngest sister."

"What, Emma?" said Robert, "why she's ill I understand."

"She is better to-day," replied he, "but she wants change of air and scene, and I want to get it for her."

"Why, what new fancy of hers is this?" exclaimed Mrs. Watson, "that girl's head is always full of some strange vagary or another; it's only the other day she would not walk out, and now she's wanting to go away, and she keeping her bed and pretending to be ill."

"Where do you want to take her to?" enquired Robert, unheeding his wife's speech.

"Why, my sister wishes for a companion, and I think they would suit each other very well; and it really appears to me that she feels the confinement and application necessary in her present mode of life too much for her."

"My dear Mr. Bridge," cried Mrs. Watson in a fawning tone, "don't you, please, believe that she is a prisoner, or acting under compulsion; I am sure you would have too much regard for me to go and set such a story about—only think what my feelings would be were such a story circulated about my dear husband's sister."

"I did not mean to say anything to hurt your feelings, Mrs. Watson," replied the clergyman coolly, "but you cannot deny that your sister-in-law has been ill, and that at present she is incapable of continuing her labors as governess to your little girl: I do not exaggerate in that statement."

"Oh dear no—but then she never had any great labors to go through; nothing I am sure but what any one might accomplish."

"I am of opinion she has exerted herself too much in every way; and as my sister's house will be very quiet, and they are persuaded they shall suit each other, I really think the best thing she can do will be to go there."

"I don't see that at all," replied Jane rather snappishly, "I cannot spare her; I want her to take charge of Janetta; what am I to do without her?"

"I understood her services in that way were very trifling," interposed Mr. Bridge.

"Just her teaching may be," said she retracting a little, "but then she is accustomed to take care of her all day long, and I cannot spare her from that."

"Not unless you find a substitute," said he.

"But I cannot do that, I do not like to leave her entirely to servants, and unless I mind the child myself what can I do; and I suppose no one would expect me to become a slave to my little girl, and shut myself up in a nursery."

"Then why exact it of her?" suggested Mr. Bridge.

"Because whilst she is living at my husband's expense, I think it only fair that I should profit from her cares in that way; and I consider it always a charity to give young people something to do."

"That may be very true whilst she is here perhaps; but it seems to me a little unreasonable, begging your pardon for saying so, to keep her against her will, and then make her work to cover the expense of staying."

"I am sure I don't know why you should find fault: I have not time to teach my child myself, if I had the health for such an exertion."

"You never seem to have either time or inclination to do anything, Jane:" said the husband, "look at this room—was there ever such an untidy pigsty for a lady to live in; why cannot you take a little trouble and make it look decent."

"You had better arrange it after your own fashion," said she scornfully, "if you do not like mine."

"As to this plan of yours, Mr. Bridge," continued Robert, "I think it a capital one; and the sooner you can take her away the better—when do you mean to go?"

Mrs. Watson was silenced altogether, and Mr. Bridge proceeded to explain the plan of their proceedings as proposed by himself. Robert highly approved of it all, and gave his full consent and approbation to Mr. Bridge with the more zest, because it appeared to annoy his wife. After this it was of course vain for her to make objections; he was completely master of his own house, and Jane knew, from sad experience, that she might produce as much effect by talking to the tables and chairs as to him, when in one of his stubborn fits.

All she could do, therefore, was to be as cross as possible for the rest of the day to those around her, in consequence of which she was left to a tÊte-À-tÊte with Margaret, as Elizabeth was upstairs making preparations for Emma's departure, and Robert went out to spend the evening with some bachelor friends.