Now, then, fate seemed kinder.

I could fight through for myself, providing that my fragile, delicate Clare was safely taken care of.
Another six months passed.

Clare knew all then and was resigned.

God had been very good to her.

She could walk; distance did not fatigue her, and the doctors thought it was very unlikely that the same disease would attack her again.
She wrote and told me about it.
"I was out yesterday," she said, "with Agatha, and we met the Crown Anstey carriage.