"Need you ask?" said the baronet, impatiently, and the doctor returned to the sick room.
Sir Everard paced up and down till the door re-opened, and the doctor made him a sign to come in.
He entered, and advanced to the side of the sofa. The room was so dark that he could only see the outline of the curly head, lying back among the pillows, but a little hand came out, and pulled him down.
"Father," in a voice which was hardly above a whisper, "it's all right. He isn't hurt a bit—not even a cold. I am so glad it is me that is hurt instead of him."
"Oh, hush! hush! my darling."
"You're not angry with me, father? I'm so sorry I climbed. I'll never do it again. Say you're not angry, father."
"No, no my poor child—I'm not angry only so sorry to see you ill."
"Am I very ill? What is the matter with my head? Shall I soon be well again?"
"I hope so, darling. There are some gentlemen coming to-morrow, to help you to get well very quick."