When they went upstairs, Joan was standing by the sick man.
“He's worse than he wur last neet,” she said. “An' he'll be worse still. I ha' nursed hurts like these afore. It'll be mony a day afore he'll be better—if th' toime ivver comes.”
The Rector and Mrs. Barholm, hearing of the accident, and leaving Browton hurriedly to return home, were met by half a dozen different versions on their way to Riggan, and each one was so enthusiastically related that Mr. Barholm's rather dampened interest in his daughter's protégé was fanned again into a brisk flame.
“There must be something in the girl, after all,” he said, “if one could only get at it. Something ought to be done for her, really.”
Hearing of Grace's share in the transaction, he was simply amazed.
“I think there must be some mistake,” he said to his wife. “Grace is not the man—not the man physically” straightening his broad shoulders, “to be equal to such a thing.”
But the truth of the report forced itself upon him after hearing the story repeated several times before they reached Riggan, and arriving at home they heard the whole story from Anice.
While Anice was talking, Mr. Barholm began to pace the floor of the room restlessly.
“I wish I had been there,” he said. “I would have gone down myself.”
(It is true: he would have done so.)