“I don’t see that: and I’m not a stranger to Mr. Rutherford,” said Marian. Her look was very resolute. “You needn’t try to hinder me, Jervis, for my mind’s set on going. The walk’s nothing.”
“You always were set on anything you wanted to do,” said Hannah.
“But, Polly, it’s not needful. It would be better not,” urged Jervis. “In the morning, if you like—”
“Any one among them may be dead by the morning,” Marian answered. “I am going, Jervis. I couldn’t lie down and sleep to-night if I didn’t. Perhaps I shall come back presently but you needn’t sit up for me. More likely I’ll stay there till the morning.”
“At the hotel?” asked Jervis, giving in to what seemed inevitable.
“Yes.”
Marian moved away, not pausing at the door to hear Hannah’s very audible animadversions on her obstinacy. Presently she returned, wearing bonnet and shawl.
“I shall know my way,” she observed. “Though it’s years and years since I’ve walked those lanes I can remember every step of them, like yesterday. It’s clear moonlight, and I’m in no fear of going wrong. Don’t be anxious, Jervis.”
Once out of the house, away from observers, Marian’s calmness of manner forsook her. In the solitude and semi-darkness she could yield to her feelings, as she rarely permitted herself to do before the eyes of others.
A great fear was pressing on the mother’s heart. What if Joan—her child—were among the severely injured? What if Joan should die?