AN ACCIDENT
"We cannot well forget the hand that holds
And pierces us and will not let us go,
However much we strive from under it.
The heavy pressure of a constant pain ...
Is it not God's own very finger-tips
Laid on thee in a tender steadfastness?"
Hamilton King.
"MY dear Mrs. Burke, you are never going out this afternoon?"
Rowena looked up from a newspaper which she was reading. She was toasting her feet over a roaring wood fire in Mrs. Burke's pleasant morning-room at Minley Court. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. Outside the house, a storm of wind and rain was raging. For three days the weather had been so bad that they had been confined to the house. The rain was not quite so violent now, but after luncheon Mrs. Burke had told Rowena she was going to lie down in her room, with a novel, till tea-time.
"There is nothing else to do," she had mournfully complained.
Now she burst open the door attired in an old tweed hat and in her fur coat.
"Yes; I'm going out," she said. "I couldn't stand my book, and I couldn't sleep; so I thought I'd go over to Vi and Di. I haven't seen them yet; and I've ordered out the car. And I may go on and look up the Sheringhams. I want the Colonel for my theatricals, on Boxing night."
"I don't expect Vale likes the prospect of driving in this storm," said Rowena, looking at her friend with some dismay in her eyes. "Are you wise in going? You have a slight cold."
"I shall be under cover, so will Vale."
"It will soon be dark, remember."