"It was dreadful to lie here helpless thinking of you out in the thunder and lightning and rain," he said with a slight shudder; "I suppose you did not notice the storm coming because you were under the trees. What? You were asleep I Oh, you babe in the wood But seriously, Felicia, you must promise to be more careful of yourself in future, or I shall never have a moment's peace of mind when I do not know where you are. I suppose you were terribly alarmed?"
"Indeed I was," she admitted, "though I tried not to be. I shouted and shouted and no one came, and at last I knelt down and prayed, and remembered that God was everywhere, and that no harm could come to me against His will. I kept repeating, 'Thy will be done—Thy will be done—' mother used to call that the perfect prayer, because it's asking God for what's best for us when we don't know what's best ourselves. The storm confused me so that I couldn't think properly, and I was quite dazed by the time the gipsy found me, and then I was horrified when he spoke of taking me to his caravan. I thought grandfather would imagine I had gone there of my own accord. Everything seemed going against me."
"You might have confided in us about your visit to the common, Felicia; I have heard all about it from father. You should have trusted us; I cannot think why you did not. But there, don't look so distressed. Why, I declare your eyes are full of tears."
Felicia made no response, and by-and-by he continued—
"The gipsies left the common at daybreak this morning, and the district will be well quit of them, for of course they do steal the game, though in other ways I don't believe they are as bad as they are represented, and certainly no worse than old Harry Budd, who, in spite of calling them 'a thieving set,' appears to have been hand-and-glove with them all along. By the way, if you had had Lion with you the night before last he would have brought you home in safety, but they tell me he had been chained up all the afternoon so that he should not follow father into the preserves—he disturbs the game—and no one thought of releasing him. Poor old Lion, he lost an opportunity of distinguishing himself. However, all's well that ends well, and our ditch flower is safe—thank God."
The last two words were spoken almost in a whisper, but the little girl heard them with a sensation of mingled happiness and surprise, for she realised that from her uncle's lips they were no mere idle phrase. She felt certain that he really did thank God.
[CHAPTER XXII]
Conclusion
WHEN Miss Barton returned to her duties at the end of her week's holiday, the first piece of news she learnt from Doris and Molly, who met her at the station, was that Uncle Guy was going to London for a course of treatment recommended by the specialist who had been to the Priory to see him, and that there was a strong hope that he might be cured of the attacks of severe pain which had kept him an invalid all his life.
"He is not very hopeful about it himself," Molly said, "and at first he said nothing would induce him to go to London, but when he saw how much everyone, and grandfather especially, wished it, he consented, and so he's going very soon. Oh, Miss Barton, won't it be wonderful if he can really be made better? Grandfather doesn't say much about it, but one can see he is quite excited, and Felicia—oh, you haven't heard about her yet! She gave us such a fright the night of the thunderstorm!" And the little girl explained at some length all that had occurred. "Wasn't it silly to be afraid grandfather would send her to boarding-school?" she said in conclusion.