“What child?”
“Bertie. Has he not come yet? They tell me there has been an accident on the cliffs.”
Two faces blanched visibly at these words. The Squire took a quick step forward, and asked hastily,—
“What do you mean?”
“I hardly know myself yet. Little Miss Arbuthnot came galloping up to my door ten minutes ago, to say that Bertie had had a fall on the cliffs and was being brought home in the pony cart. I came on at once—luckily I had not started on my round—I suppose I am here before them.”
“Yes,” said the Squire, absently, and went out into the hall.
Uncle Fred looked at the doctor and said,—
“I want to introduce you to my wife, Lighton. We have put the matter beyond all doubt. She is the boy’s mother.”
It was no time for conventional greetings; anxiety and fear filled all hearts. All the party followed the Squire into the hall, where Queenie Arbuthnot was now standing, her face very white, her whole frame trembling with nervous excitement.
They questioned her closely. She was incoherent at first, but Mrs. Arbuthnot’s kind and motherly sweetness did much to restore her self-command, and they were able at length to elicit the following facts.