"I suppose I fainted?" she inquired, looking wistfully from the Vicar to her father, who was regarding her in gloomy silence.
"Yes, that was it, you fainted," Mr. Amyatt replied. "But you are much better now; and after a good night's rest, I have no doubt you will be almost yourself again."
Salome glanced at her crutches, which were lying on the ground. Mr. Amyatt picked them up and placed them against her chair.
"Thank you, sir," she said gratefully, lifting her brown eyes shyly to his face, which expressed so plainly his sympathy and concern. "I think I shall be all right now," she added. "Thank you for being so kind."
"Does that mean you wish me to go?" he queried with a smile. "Well, I don't know that I can do any good by remaining longer. Good night, my dear."
He took Salome's small, thin hand and pressed it reassuringly, then beckoned to her father to follow him to the door.
"You must have someone in to see to that poor child to-night, Petherick," he said gravely. "Can you call upon assistance from one of your neighbours?"
Josiah shook his head doubtfully.
"Then, shall I ask Mrs. Moyle to look in and help get Salome to bed?" the Vicar suggested.
A dull, shamed flush rose to the fisherman's face, and he began to stammer something about not knowing whether Mrs. Moyle would come inside his doors, seeing he had quarrelled with her husband only that evening; but the Vicar cut him short.