"Mr. Walton Hurst has been hurt."
"Hurt! My poor, dear child. Oh, now I know why you came to me gasping for breath."
"He is very ill—quite insensible, in his room over yonder, with no one to take care of him but Sir Noel's man."
"Who knows nothing."
"Who might let him die, you know, while the doctors are away. I am so troubled about it."
"Well, what shall I do? Of course Webb isn't to be trusted."
"Just step in and offer to take his place, while he goes down to the gardener's cottage and inquires about Jessup, who is hurt also."
"Jessup hurt! What right had he to take the same night of the young gentleman's misfortune, for his poor trouble, I should like to know," exclaimed the old lady, resentfully. "It is taking a great liberty, I can tell him."
"Still, he is hurt, and I want to hear about it, if you can only get Webb to go."
"Can! He shall!"