k.

"It's all over, darling! We have come to take you home. All your
troubles are over now," said a soft voice, and I looked up and saw a
face looking down at me inside a close-fitting hood. For a moment I did
not recognise her; I thought it was a nun or someone like that sprung
out of a hazy dream, but when she smiled I knew it was Rachel, and
somehow I began to cry at once, not because I was sorry, but because now
that she was there I could afford to give way. She would look after
Vere.

"Yes, cry, dear, it will do you good; but you mustn't stay here any
longer. We have brought a chair, and are going to put you in it, and
carry you home to the Grange. We are your nearest neighbours, so you
must give us the pleasure of looking after you for a time. They are
taking your sister on ahead, and a man has ridden off for a doctor. He
will look after that poor foot of yours presently. I am afraid it will
be painful for you to be moved, but we will be very careful. The
servants are preparing rooms in case they are needed. You shall get
straight to bed."

"And mother and father?"

"Your mother was taken to the Lodge. She is well, but very exhausted.
They want to keep her quiet to-night. Your father knows you are safe.
He is very thankful, but he will not leave his post until the servants
are safe. Now here is the chair, and here are Will and the coach-man
waiting to carry you. Are you ready to be moved?"

I set my teeth and said "Yes," and they hoisted me up and carried me
down the path after that other dreadful procession. Oh, my foot! I
never knew what pain was like before that. How do people go on bearing
it day after day, week after week, year after year? I couldn't! I
should go mad. I would have shrieked then, but my pride wouldn't let me
before Will and Rachel, when they kept praising me, and saying how brave
I was.

I was carried straight to a room and put to bed. Rachel bathed and
bandaged my ankle, and then hurried away, and no one came near me for an
age. I knew why. They were all with Vere; my ankle was a trifle
compared with her injuries. When at last the doctor did appear, he
could tell me very little about her. The great thing was to keep her
quiet until the next day, when he would be able to make an examination.
I summoned courage to ask if she were in danger, and he answered me
rather strangely--

"In danger--of death, do you mean? Certainly not, so far as I can
tell."

What