"I hope Miss Mary—" Thomas began, with a little hesitation.
"She's very ill," said her father, "very ill, indeed. It was enough to be the death of her. Excessively imprudent."
Now Mary had been as much to blame, if there was any blame at all, for the present results of the Christmas morning, as Thomas; but he had still generosity enough left not to say so to her father.
"I am very sorry," he said. "We were caught in the snow, and lost our way."
"Yes, yes, I know. I oughtn't to be too hard upon young people," returned Mr. Boxall, remembering, perhaps, that he had his share of the blame in leaving them so much to themselves.
"I only hope she may get through it. But she's in a bad way. She was quite delirious last night."
Thomas was really concerned for a moment, and looked so. Mr. Boxall saw it, and spoke more kindly.
"I trust, however, that there is not any immediate danger. It's no use you coming to see her. She can't see anybody but the doctor."
This was a relief to Thomas. But it was rather alarming to find that Mr. Boxall clearly expected him to want to go to see her.