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ground in a day; but I managed to get a kind of low fever, from which I relapsed into a miserable, nervous state of existence that seemed to last, in my dim recollection, for indefinite ages of twilight. How on earth I ever escaped from those dark days without either dying, or marrying the professor—there never seemed to be any middle course open to me then—is more than I can understand even to this day. He was so good to me, never giving me up, always encouraging and setting me on my feet, and bringing me violets, and books, and sympathy, day after day, and week after week. The kindness he showed to a poor, nervous, broken-down singer (who was also as cross as two sticks most of the time), really deserved the Legion of Honour. You probably live too far out of the musical world to understand the honour it was considered, in our little artistic world, to be noticed, or even scolded by Piper; but even in the wilds of Skye you must have heard of Mrs. Damon and her musical afternoons in Grosvenor Square. She took me by the hand the first time I was sent for to sing at one of her ‘At Homes’ five years ago, and she never let go till she pulled me up on dry land from the sofa and the medicine bottles, and from that terrible time of failure and disappointment.