"Run on, Yesslett, and try to prepare poor mother."
Hearing those words she seemed to know the worst. She could not cry out, her parched lips refused to move, but she grasped the top rail of the fence with her icy hand to support herself. She could not get her breath, and the warm air, that was heavy with the aromatic scent of the gum trees, seemed to suffocate her. When Yesslett came upon her, as she stood near the gate to the yard, she could not speak; she only lay her trembling hand upon his shoulder and waited for him to begin.
"It is Geordie, aunt; he is not dead but badly hurt," stammered poor Yess, who was quite unprepared for seeing his aunt so soon.
"Oh, thank Heaven for that," gasped the poor lady, bursting into tears, natural tears, that relieved her from the strain of her suspense.
Yesslett let her sob for a moment, and then, knowing that the best way to soothe her was to call for her assistance, he said—
"But it all depends upon you, aunt. You must be calm and tell us what to do, for Geordie is insensible, and we don't know how to act for the best."
"You are right, Chevalier. I am glad no one but you has seen me in my weakness," said Mrs. Law resolutely, and making a determined effort she became her own calm self again, and by the time the men carrying Geordie arrived at the gate she was composed and gave her orders with a steady voice.
In this way, senseless, powerless, and death-like, George Law returned to the home he had left so full of life and brightness and hope only a few short weeks before.