"How natural everything looks!" said the young man, gazing languidly around. "I could be sworn, Rose, that you were working on that same bit of embroidery the day I was hurt."
Lady Rose blushed vividly. She had snatched the embroidery from her work-table, as she heard him coming, and was in fact working on the same leaf in which her needle had been left that day.
"We have all been so anxious," she said, gently.
"And all about me—troublesome fellow that I am. It may be fancy, Lady Rose, but my father seems to have suffered more than I have."
"He has, indeed, suffered. One month seems to have aged him more than years should have done," said the young lady.
"Have I been in such terrible danger then?"
"For a time we thought you in great danger, and were in sad suspense." She spoke with hesitation, and Hurst noticed it with some surprise.
"Why, Rose," he said, "it seems to me as if you had changed, also. What has come over you all?"
"Nothing, but great thankfulness that you are better, Walton."
"And do you care so much for me? I hardly thought it," said the young man, a little sadly.