"Mrs. Darkham!" Agatha roused herself from her nervous agitation and looked at him.
"Yes. She went out early this morning shopping in the town, and coming down that hilly part of the High Street she slipped on an orange-peel, and came with fearful force upon the flags. You know what a heavy woman she is?"
"Yes, yes. Poor thing!"
"She was taken home quite insensible. Darkham was out, but was sent for, and it appears it was some time before he returned. In the meantime poor Edwy had crept into the room where she was lying, and the servants told me the sight of the blood—she had cut the back of her head slightly—affected Edwy horribly. First he flew to her and then recoiled. They said he did not know her lying there so still.
"He went away, but came back again and flung himself upon her, and great, difficult tears fell from his eyes. I was there then, and so was the father. It was pitiful beyond words. I raised him and tried to calm him.
"He got up suddenly and ran round the bed to me. He took my arm and pointed to the door. I believe now he was trying to tell me that he was going to bring you to the succour of his mother."
"Poor, poor boy!" Agatha sighed quickly. "It is not hopeless, at all events?" questioned she.
"Who can say? Darkham thinks it is, and I—well, I have seen cases as bad recover. But that is nothing. It is undoubtedly a very bad case. She is a heavy woman, you know, and a fall like that—and concussion—I am going up there again this evening in consultation with Dr. Bland."
"Ah!" said Agatha quickly. There was relief in her tone. She could not have explained it to herself, but she was glad that so respectable a man as Dr. Bland had been called in for consultation.
Dillwyn looked at her questioningly.