Five struck, and with it came the first faint sleepy twitter of a half-awakened bird.
Pauly stirred: the Vicar raised his head: the child looked at his father for a moment with a half-puzzled smile of recognition; then, with a little drowsy sound of contentment, dropped back upon the pillows, peacefully asleep.
Hugh rose from his cramped posture and rubbed his stiffened arm. “Thank God!” he said. Mr. Seaton’s hand closed over his in a way that was more expressive than any words had power to be. “The little chap will do now,” the young doctor told the father gently, and left him with his child.
He went down the stairs like a man in a dream, looked into the hospital, and then directed his steps straight towards the Castle. The whole world seemed unreal to him to-night; he was unconscious that he had not slept or eaten for hours. All his powers seemed centred on one thought: Was there a light in that passage window?
The lodge gates had been left open for the convenience of the doctors, and Hugh made his way unopposed through the Park, where Sydney had gone that first morning.
As he drew near the Castle he saw that he was not the only watcher. Half a dozen figures were grouped near the marble steps, waiting, for the most part, silently. As he joined them Hugh saw that one was old Banks the groom, and the rest men from the village. No one made any comment when the young doctor stood among them. A common trouble makes the roughest quick of understanding.
Old Banks was speaking as Hugh came up to the little group.
“She were a rare one for the riding,” he said in a low husky voice. “Bless you! I’ve put a many up, but never one as took to it better than she did. And his lordship were fine and pleased, he were, for I saw the look in his eyes as we went past they windows of the library.
“‘Please tell me anything I don’t do right, Banks,’ she says, as pretty as can be, ‘for I want to ride well and please my cousin.’”
Hugh went and stood close beside the old man, and silence fell again upon the little group of watchers.