“No; to the neighbouring public-house. But, may I ask, are you going into Ratcham?”
“Yes, yes,” said the lady excitedly, as she rose, held on by the rail of the driver’s seat, and peered over the heads of the bearers, adding wildly—“Oh, aunt, aunt! it must be poor Smithson they have found.”
“Anna, my dear, what are you going to do?” cried the elder lady from behind her veil.
“Nothing—I—oh, aunt, I—”
The words were faltered out, but the girl’s movements were quick and decisive as she unfastened the door at the back of the waggonette and sprang down, the labouring men drawing right and left as she turned to the side of the hurdle.
“It is—it is!” she cried, as she bent over the pallid face and laid her hand upon Dick’s forehead.
“You know him, then?” said the doctor eagerly, for his patient began to be of much greater importance in his eyes.
“Oh, yes—a little. Yes—very well,” cried Miss Deane, contradicting herself.
“Anna, my dear, pray come here!”
“Yes, aunt, directly.—But, tell me quickly, is he very much hurt?”