"And you understood that Mrs. Dalrymple was in danger?" Hermione said at length. It seemed very terrible. Only a few hours earlier in full health, with every prospect of a long life, and now—!
"I did, Miss," Slade answered solemnly. "John was under that impression."
"Is John here now?"
"He drove back with Mrs. Trevor to see the horses."
"And Mr. Pennant—you say that Mr. Pennant was to follow."
"Mr. Pennant was absent on his rounds, Miss, but Mrs. Pennant undertook that Mr. Pennant would set off immediately on his return. He did return about an hour later, and when he left, Mr. Fitzalan went also."
"I must know when Mr. Pennant and Mr. Fitzalan come back," said Hermione. "Send some one to the Rectory to wait. Mr. Fitzalan may come here, but if he does not I should like a message."
She had to wait long for news. Mittie went to bed, vainly imploring to sit up longer. Hermione had her own ideas of discipline for children, and she counted this no bad opportunity for counteracting in some small degree the mother's spoiling method. So Mittie disappeared, sobbing in a heart-broken style, and Hermione sat alone with a book, keeping anxious watch.
Hermione really was very much grieved and shocked, though not to any crushing extent. Such an accident happening to even a mere acquaintance would come as a blow, and Hermione felt it quite as a blow. She could not settle down to her book in any comfort. Harvey had shown her invariable kindness, and Julia had almost succeeded in winning her affection. "Poor Julia!" Hermione said repeatedly, with a little sigh of commiseration. Perhaps, as she sighed, the recollection would dart into her mind, "Now I need not go to the Daltons'!" followed by a regretful wish, "If only I had waited one more day!" But she did her best to smother down these suggestions, and only to let herself think pityingly of "Poor Julia and Harvey!"
The announcement, "Mr. Fitzalan!" came at length abruptly. Hermione sprang up, greeting him with outstretched hand.