"Come with you,—of course I will." Aunt Greenow had seen at once that something was amiss.
"Where's George?" said John Vavasor. "Has he come back with you, or are we to wait for him?"
Kate seated herself in her chair. "I don't quite know where he is," she said. In the meantime her aunt had hastened up to her side just in time to catch her as she was falling from her chair. "My arm," said Kate, very gently; "my arm!" Then she slipped down against her aunt, and had fainted.
"He has done her a mischief," said Mrs. Greenow, looking up at her brother. "This is his doing."
John Vavasor stood confounded, wishing himself back in Queen Anne Street.
CHAPTER LVII.
Showing How the Wild Beast Got Himself Back
from the Mountains.
About eleven o'clock on that night,—the night of the day on which Kate Vavasor's arm had been broken,—there came a gentle knock at Kate's bedroom door. There was nothing surprising in this, as of all the household Kate only was in bed. Her aunt was sitting at this time by her bedside, and the doctor, who had been summoned from Penrith and who had set her broken arm, was still in the house, talking over the accident with John Vavasor in the dining-room, before he proceeded back on his journey home.
"She will do very well," said the doctor. "It's only a simple fracture. I'll see her the day after to-morrow."