"I must risk it. What did you hear, my darling?"
She lifted her face, and said in a voice quiet as his own:
"Father, Mr. Rawdon will tell me, please—not you." She grew paler: turning to the doctor—"Was father—? Did the dog—?"
"No, not bitten; but he had a touch from the creature's tooth. A mere scratch," said Mr. Rawdon. "Of course the slightest scratch should be avoided. He came to me, however, at once, and I burnt the place out—burnt deeply. I believe he managed to conceal from you that anything was the matter with his wrist."
"Wrist!" Annie repeated the word, and Mr. Wilmot drew up his sleeve.
"That is the scar of the burn," said Mr. Rawdon. "The scratch itself was a mere nothing. The wound healed slowly but thoroughly, as you may see. My own belief is that the remedy was prompt and complete enough to ensure safety."
But Annie knew that these words did not imply certainty. She sat silent once more, hardly thinking, but rather weighed down by a dull pressure of misery.
"And I was never told!" she murmured at length.
"There was no need," said Mr. Rawdon. "The less said and thought about the matter, the better. Now I must be off, Wilmot, to arrange for your evening's work being done by somebody else. You may leave that in my hands. Keep very quiet, and don't exert yourself. I shall see you early to-morrow."
He said good-bye to Mr. Wilmot, but not to Annie, and turned away. Annie knew that she was to accompany him out of the room, and she stood up, her father's arm relaxing to set her free.