"How do you know?" asked Miss Phenie a little sharply.
"I can see his light, from my window, shining out on the walk," said Miss Phosie.
"Humph!" returned Miss Phenie. "Well, there's nothing more we can do up here. We may as well go down and wait."
Gwen slipped her arm around Miss Phosie. "May I wait too?" she whispered.
Miss Phosie nodded assent, and leaving Miss Phenie to the occupancy of the sitting-room, she led the way to the spare chamber from whose windows one could see furthest. The two women spoke little as they gazed out beyond the stretch of embrowned grass to the road. Once in a while Gwen would say, "It takes a long time," and Miss Phosie would sigh softly. She thought of how often she had seen a tall lean figure, coming along the familiar way, energetic, erect. She remembered how the grave face would light up with a smile if he chanced to see her at the window, and of the pleasant, appreciative words that would follow his entrance if, when he was late, she had kept a meal hot for him. How now would be his home-coming? With feeble step, supported on either side by his friends, or would they be obliged to bring him on an improvised stretcher, a door taken from its hinges for the purpose? She shuddered at this last suggestion, and turned her thoughts to the pleasant reminiscences. Once or twice when he had been housed with a cold how grateful he had been for her ministrations, and how she had rejoiced in his dependence upon her. So would it be now. She could settle his pillows, cook him dainties, bring him news of the neighbors, cheer him with some droll joke of Mil Stevens. He could not be severely hurt—at the worst a broken bone. She grew almost cheerful over the prospect—but her heart sank as she espied some one hurrying up from the cove.
Gwen sprang to her feet. "It's Kenneth," she cried. "He will tell us." She ran to the door and was out upon the steps before Kenneth could knock. "Well?" she cried.
"Come in," he said. He drew her inside, and folded her two hands in his. "The doctor says he cannot be moved."
"Is he so badly hurt, so very badly?"
"Internally, the doctor fears. Don't cry, little girl. He does not suffer very much—and—he will not suffer long."
"Oh, Kenneth!" Gwen sobbed out and buried her head on his breast. He put his arm around her gently.