"I am afraid it is, my dear," was the grave rejoinder. "It's inflammation of the lungs. Dr. Vawdry has been here from N—, and he's coming again this evening. He says she's very ill; and if Mr. and Mrs. Fowler had not been returning to-night, they'd have been telegraphed for. Oh, dear, dear, I do trust the poor child's life may be spared! She's not been well for days, not since the night of the storm, when Master Gerald led us all such a dance after him. He's the one to be blamed for this. For once, I should think the mistress would see that."
And the woman poked the fire viciously, as though the act was a vent for her feelings. "She's the nicest, sweetest, little creature I ever knew is Miss Margaret," she proceeded, "with always a kind word for us servants. Ross says she doesn't recognise anyone; she didn't know Master Gerald, and her incessant cry is that he is drowned. If only Miss Conway had turned the key in his bedroom door on the night of the storm. She kept him locked up the next day, and it broke his rebellious spirit—quite. She'd soon get him under subjection if his mother didn't pamper him so. Don't you take on, now, about Miss Margaret, my dear; maybe she'll get over this attack all right. She's young and healthy, and she'll have good nursing, and everything money can buy. I ordered some lean, gravy beef the minute I heard she was ill, but the doctor won't allow her anything but milk and soda water, so there's plenty of strong beef-tea going begging, and you'd better have a cupful. Will you have bread with it? Yes. I'm sure it will do you good."
Salome was very glad of some refreshment. She took the beef-tea, whilst the cook talked on without waiting for replies; but when she rose to go, having learnt all there was to know, her heart was very heavy indeed. Her eyes were full of unshed tears as she passed out of the Greystone grounds, and commenced her descent of the hill. As she went by the church, she wondered if she would ever hear Miss Margaret practising on the organ again.
And she was so engrossed with her sorrowful thoughts, that she was startled when, on reaching the Vicarage gate, a voice addressed her from inside. "Hi, Salome! Where have you been?"
She paused and looked at the speaker, Gerald Fowler, who was peering at her laughingly between the bars of the gate. The boy was in high spirits at being the Vicar's guest, and he had not been informed that his sister was really seriously ill. He had been frightened when Margaret had failed to recognise him, but the impression he had then received had passed, and he was delighted at having this unexpected holiday.
"YOU'D BETTER MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS,
SALOME PETHERICK."
"I've been to Greystone, Master Gerald," Salome returned quietly.
"To see Margaret, I suppose? She's ill, you know."
"Yes, and I am so grieved and sorry."