Then up again--anywhere but to the pensionnat--out to the cemetery where Martha lay--out beyond it, to the hills whence there is nothing to be seen but fields as far as the horizon.

The shades of evening made her retrace her footsteps--sick for want of food, but not hungry; fatigued with long continued exercise--yet restless still, and doomed to another weary, haunted night of sleeplessness.

She would thread the streets in the neighbourhood of the Rue d'Isabelle, and yet avoid it and its occupant, till as late an hour as she dared be out.

At last, she was compelled to keep her bed for some days, and this compulsory rest did her good.

She was weak, but less depressed in spirits than she had been, when the school re-opened, and her positive practical duties recommenced.
She writes thus:-- "October 13th, 1843 "Mary is getting on well, as she deserves to do.