Next came a question or two as to the manner of accident. Mrs. Stuart enlarged sobbingly on her sensations in the brick-field, with a digression about the lost handkerchief—"One of Archie's very best, as I had marked for him so particular!" she averred. A touch brought in a shriek here, and Mrs. Stuart clutched at Mrs. Dunn for comfort.
"Well," Mr. Rawdon said at length, raising himself from his stooping posture, "it's a bad foot, no doubt. Many in my place would take it off at once. But I think I can save it for you, if—"
He was interrupted. Mrs. Stuart cried out lustily. Lose her foot! She'd sooner die—a great deal sooner. Life wasn't worth so very much, she was sure! A poor woman with no end of troubles and bothers! She wouldn't have her foot cut off, not she—if that was what the doctor meant. She was much obliged, all the same. Much sooner die! Mr. Rawdon heard all this and more composedly. When her ejaculations came to a pause, he said only—
"I think I can save you the foot, if you are careful to do as you are told."
"I'm not a-going to have my foot taken off. No, not for nobody," said Mrs. Stuart.
"It will, I hope, be unnecessary. I shall bind it up for you now, and you will go to bed."
"I'd sooner die—a deal sooner; if it was fifty times over!" cried Mrs. Stuart.
Mr. Rawdon was examining the foot again. He raised himself, looked at her, and asked:
"Mrs. Stuart, have you ever stood face to face with death, that you can speak of it so lightly?"
For the moment, Mrs. Stuart was silenced.