"If you can't be silent, Mrs. Hammond, you will please to leave the room," says he, under his breath, as it were; and Mrs. Hammond looked all taken aback, the more as Lady Arthur added—
"Hammond, you forget yourself! How can you be so unwise?"
And then Lady Arthur did nigh as unwisely herself, for she stooped down to kiss my forehead, and burst into tears.
"Hush! No agitation, pray!" Mr. Baitson says, in the same voice.
But somehow that kiss of Lady Arthur's, being uncommon and unexpected, woke me up, and my memory too. In a moment I saw the train rushing up, and father standing on the line, and I tried to shriek "Father!" but the word wouldn't come. I think I struggled up, sitting, and somebody got hold of my hand, and then I seemed to hear the buffer strike poor father, and everything turned again into a black mist.
I don't seem to have any clear remembrance of the next coming-to, except that I was in bed, and a sort of horror was on me, and I called for mother, and she didn't come. Then I got so tired, I didn't know how to bear myself, nor how to lie; and Mr. Baitson gave me something to drink; and after that I seemed to go off sound asleep.
I haven't a notion how long the sleep lasted. It might have been hours, or days, or weeks, if I'm to tell from my own feelings.
When I woke up, it was night. I was in my bed still, and a candle was burning. Somebody was leaning back in a chair, sound asleep. I sat up slowly, and looked at her, and I made out gradually that it was Mrs. Hammond.
I didn't want Mrs. Hammond, and I didn't want her to speak to me. I had woke up better, and quite clear in mind. Only I had a feeling that I mustn't let myself think yet about what was come to us.
Something had happened—something dreadful—and down in my heart I knew what it was. But I tried to think I didn't know. I wanted to see and speak to mother. And if I began to think about the other, I shouldn't be able.