"You will find your daughter in there. Keep with her until I come for you."
As Martha timidly entered the tent, Lizzie turned with a low cry, and threw her arms round her mother's neck.
"I sent a letter to you this morning, mother; but you could not have received it."
"I came home last night, my dear," Martha replied.
"Last night! How anxious you must have been! If I had thought you were coming back, I would have left word."
"I was almost distracted, Lizzie. Felix found me at the house this morning in a sad state, and told me all."
Lizzie moved to where Alfred was lying. A bed had been made up for him on the ground, and he was murmuring feverishly in his sleep. She knelt by his side, but could not make sense of the words that came from his lips. Names of horses and jockeys and prophets, with expressions of fondness for Lizzie and Lily, were strangely mingled together.
"He would have died, mother, if I had not come last night! I found him lying under a hedge in a strong fever. He has not recognised me yet. If he dies, my heart will break! You will help me to nurse him, mother?"
"Yes, dear child."
They gazed at each other wistfully. Lizzie's eyes were heavy and weary with watching. Filled as was Martha's heart with yearning love for her child, there was an expression of misery in her face. Lizzie saw it, and a sad smile played upon her lips.