'Can you come with me to-morrow to Rock House, Miss Palmer? The Squire, Mr Bayfield, was moved to his own home yesterday, and I superintended the removal. He has something on his mind which he says he must tell you, and none but you. Poor fellow, he is a mere wreck of a man. You had better take pity and hear what he has to say, for his position is very forlorn in that rambling old place. I have provided him with an experienced woman as nurse, and his father's friends look in on him, but it is a pitiable case. I will drive you to Rock House. Let me advise you not to delay.'
'I must get leave,' Bryda said, with trembling lips, 'I must get leave. And oh,' she exclaimed, clasping her hands, 'I do dread it—I do dread it.'
'Well, there's nothing to fear. The poor fellow can scarcely lift a finger. Not only his head but his back has had a sharp concussion. He can never be the same man again, unless by a miracle, and we doctors can't work miracles.'
Mrs Lambert gave a very reluctant permission to Bryda, and began to wonder what she should do about the 'chayney' the next day. It was the day for washing and dusting the best 'chayney' in the glass cupboard, but she supposed she must suffer inconvenience—it always was her fate.
'Pray when will you return, miss?' she asked.
'I should like to stay at home for Sunday, madam.'
'Sunday! And who is to walk with me to church? Dear me! how inconsiderate you are! I suppose you think a gentlewoman like me can take Mrs Symes' arm?'
Bryda thought nothing about it, but left the room to tell Mr Barrett she would be ready at the hour he was pleased to name.
'It must be early—say eight o'clock, Miss Palmer;' and he added, looking anxiously into her face, 'don't fret, or we shall have you ill next,' and taking Bryda's little thin hand in his the doctor felt her pulse. 'You are weak as a fly,' he said. 'Give up here and go home. We will talk more of it to-morrow. Good-day.'