‘Is father not going to stay too?’ asked Ronald; but his mother shook her head.
‘He must go home, dearie. He had a very anxious case down in the village, and can’t be spared; besides, he can do no good here. All is being done that can be done, and we are going to wire Sir Antony Jones’s opinion to him. He will be here at eight o’clock, so the message will be at home almost as soon as you are.’
‘What does Uncle Jack say about Isobel?’ The question came from Ralph, and Mrs Armitage hesitated before she answered it.
‘She is very ill, dearie,’ she said at last gently; ‘but she is in God’s hands, and we must try to be content to leave her there. We can be quite sure that He will do what is best for us all.’
‘Would it have made any difference if we had told,’ asked Ronald—‘if they had known at the very first—that she had fallen?’
‘Perhaps it might, but we cannot say. That is past now, and it is no good looking back. You did not mean to conceal anything, so you cannot blame yourselves; but remember it is always better to be open and frank, for you never know what mischief may follow if you try to hush a matter up. But I think it is time that you were getting on your greatcoats, boys, and seeing if Anne has finished your packing, and strapped your portmanteau. The carriage will be round in ten minutes, and I have some things I must say to your father.’
CHAPTER XIII.
A DREARY HOMECOMING.
TO the end of their lives Ronald and Vivian never forgot that journey home. For one thing, they had never travelled in the dark before, and everything looked strange and unreal.