But Phædra was sobbing and choking, and could not utter a word more then.
"Where is he now, mother?" asked Valentine, after a little while.
"In his room—unable to rise, but out of danger, the doctor says."
A few more minutes passed in silence. Phædra rose and resumed her chair and her needlework, though the sudden sobs and deep heavings of her bosom betrayed the storm of grief still beating.
"Mother," said Valentine, after a few moments longer, "can you tell me now all about it? How did I get home? How did he? What happened to the buggy?"
"Oh, Valentine, first of all, you came home in a state that made my heart sick to see. I can't tell you how; but I hope never to see the like again. I could not have got you upstairs without help, but I managed to get you in here, and to bed, without any one seeing you."
"Mother——"
This single word, uttered in a tone of deepest regret, and humiliation; and then his voice broke down, and he covered his face with his hands.
"I had not more than got you to bed, when a violent barking of the dogs startled me, and I went out, and found it was master that Mr. Hewitt's niggers had brought home on a door. Dr. Carter, who was coming home from a night call, had found him lying on the side of the road that runs along by Mr. Hewitt's cotton field. And he had ridden up to Mr. Hewitt's house, and roused up the old gentleman and some of the niggers; and they took a barn door off its hinges, and spread a bed and laid him on it, and brought him home. It was well that it happened to be Dr. Carter who found him; for he stayed with him all night, and that has been the means of saving his life. Oh, Valley, it was such a kind Providence that saved him!" said Phædra, breaking off suddenly, and clasping her hands.
"And this morning, mother?" said Valentine, anxiously.