gill with her tidings,
and speaking softly as if Sissy were asleep. A little nod was his only
answer, and the girl stood gazing with frightened eyes at the drooping
head which he supported. Mrs. Latimer, Hardwicke and Anderson all
arrived together, and the group divided to make way for them. The first
thing to be done was to carry Sissy to the farmhouse, and while they
were arranging this Edith felt two hands pressed lightly on her
shoulders. She turned and confronted Harry Hardwicke.

"Hush!" he said: "do not disturb them now, but when they have taken her
to the house, if you hear anything said, tell them that I have gone for
Dr. Grey, and as soon as I have sent him here I shall go on for Mrs.
Middleton. You understand?" he added, for the child was looking at him
with her scared eyes, and had not spoken.

"Yes," she said, "I will tell them. Oh, Harry! will she die?"

"Not if anything you and I can do will save her--will she, Edith?" and
Hardwicke ran off to the stables for his horse. A man was there who
saddled it for him, and a rough farm-boy stood by and saw how the
gentleman, while he waited, stroked the next one--a lady's horse, a
chestnut--and how presently he turned his face away and laid his cheek
for a moment against the chestnut's neck. The boy thought it was a rum
go, and stood staring vacantly while Hardwicke galloped off on his
terrible errand.

Meanwhile, they were carrying Sissy to the house. Fothergill was
helping, of course. Latimer had stood by irresolutely, half afraid, yet
secretly hoping for a word which would call him. But no one heeded him.
Evelyn and Edith had hurried on to see that there was a bed on which she
could be laid, and the sad little procession followed them at a short
distance. The lookers-on straggled after it, an anxiously-whispering
group, and as the last passed through the ruined doorway Archie Carroll
lifted his head and glanced round. The wall, with its mosses and ivy,
rose darkly above him--too terrible a presence to be faced alone. He
sprang up, hurried out of the black belt of shadow and fled across the
turf. He never looked back till he stood under the arch, but halting
there, within sight of his companions, he clasped a projection with one
hand as if he were giddy, and turning his head gazed intently at the
crest of the wall. Every broken edge, every tuft of feathery grass,
every aspiring ivy-spray, stood sharply out against the sunny blue. The
breeze had gone down, and