The next morning James went out as usual in his chair, Alice Heathcote walking alongside. They went down to the beach, and there stopped awhile, James looking out over the sea. “How quiet and how beautiful it is, Alice! I am very, very glad that I have been able to see it. I think I should have known about the country from books, but no book could give me an idea of the sea. Shall we go back now?”
The chair was turned homewards, until, passing a small circulating library, Alice said, “I want some note paper, James; do you mind stopping a minute while I get it?”
“No, Alice, and ask them to send me out some books to look at. I always like to see the books before I choose them.”
Alice Heathcote went into the shop. An old man was behind the counter. “I want some note-paper, and please will you take a few of the last novels to the gentleman in the invalid carriage at the door, that he may choose a set.”
As Alice spoke a young woman came forward, selected several books, and went with them to the door.
Alice heard a strange hoarse cry from James, “Carry!” and then there was a dull sound, as the young woman fell heavily on the floor.
Alice ran first out to James, who was deadly pale, and gazing with a strange fixed stare into the shop. “What is it, James, tell me, what is the matter?”
He did not answer till she touched him. “Carry!” he said, “Carry! alive. Oh, thank God! thank God!”
The footman, by Alice’s direction, assisted the old man in raising the insensible woman, and carrying her into the parlour.
Alice waited until she recovered, and then returned into the shop, and beckoned the old man to follow her. “You are Mr. Walker, I presume?”