Cecilia, who from an upper window has seen him coming with his strange encumbrance, runs down to meet him at the door, her face full of anxiety.
"What is it?" she asks, breathlessly, bending over Lilian, who is still fainting. "Poor child! how white she is!"
"It is Lilian Chesney. She has sprained her foot, I think," says Cyril, who is white too with concern: "will you take her in while I go for a carriage?"
"Of course. Oh, make haste: her lips are quivering. I am sure she is suffering great agony. Bring her this way—or—no—shall I lay her on my bed?"
"The drawing-room sofa will do very well," going in and laying her on it. "Will you see to her? and give her some brandy and—and that."
"Yes, yes. Now go quickly, and send a messenger for Dr. Bland, while you bring the carriage here. How pretty she is! what lovely hair! Poor little thing! Go, Cyril, and don't be long."
When he has disappeared, Mrs. Arlington summons Kate, and together they cut the boot off Lilian's injured foot, remove the dainty little silk stocking, and do for her all that can be done until the doctor sees her. After which, with the help of eau de Cologne, and some brandy, they succeed in bringing her to life once more.
"What has happened?" she asks, languidly, raising her hand to her head.
"Are you better now?" Mrs. Arlington asks, in return, stooping kindly over her.
"Yes, thank you, much better," gazing at her with some surprise: "it was stupid of me to faint. But"—still rather dazed—"where am I?"