Amethyst, turning round from her seat on the box, where she had been amusing the old coachman with her chatter, was amazed at what she saw, and looked curiously at Monica. But her mother, merely saying quietly: "Monica has some news to tell you another time," turned the conversation into a fresh channel.
Elsa, who had caught a word or two now and then, as she sat silently supporting her sleeping sister, flashed a radiant look at Monica, which was acknowledged by a loving little smile; and the young girl's heart was almost overwhelmed with joy at this fresh answer to prayer.
CHAPTER XVIII.
"I EXPECT IT WILL BE RATHER SLOW AND--POKEY!"
Olive, whose nervous system had received a severe shock, did not regain her usual strength for some days, and in accordance with the doctor's advice (for Mrs. Beauchamp had hastily sent for a medical man) was compelled to take things very quietly during the remainder of their stay at Sandyshore.
It was quite a new experience for the high-spirited, romping girl to be cut off from the pursuits that they had all been accustomed to, and a not altogether pleasant one. But at first she felt totally unable to join Monica and Elsa at their bathing or tennis, and was only too glad to lie in a deck chair on the sands, and watch the others engaged in active exercise which she seemed to have lost the courage to enter into.
It was a very quiet Olive who was Mrs. Beauchamp's companion during those days, and but for the doctor's assurance that she would soon recover her usual robust health, both the old lady and Mrs. Drury would have been very anxious about her. As it was, they all strove to cheer and amuse her, as much as possible, and Monica and Elsa were untiring in their devotion. They never alluded to the episode on Gullane Cliffs in her hearing, as any reference to it seemed to revive the old, nervous fear which had seized her at the time; but they often found her looking with a sort of fascinated, and yet awestruck intentness, at the white cliffs in the distance, which closely resembled those beyond the lighthouse.
One day Olive broke through the reserve herself. Monica, who had been bathing, was sitting beside her, her hair hanging dank and loose about her shoulders, in order that the sun might dry it.
"Monica," she said, "you none of you ever say a word about that day, but I am always thinking of it.
"Then I should begin to forget it at once," was the brusque reply. "It is all over and done with, and there is no need for you to remember 'that day,' as you call it, any more. As for me, I do not wish ever to forget it." And a happy smile overspread Monica's sunburnt face.