As she lay there tenderness for Rachel came sweeping about her—"She must want someone now—she's so young and so ignorant—never had any crisis like this to deal with—hard for this to happen to him just after she'd thought those things ... that must be terrible for her.... Oh! she'll need someone now."
Something reminded Lizzie of other things, of Francis Breton, of Rachel's words, of Lizzie's anger, then—
"Ah, but that's all so long ago. It doesn't seem to count. There are things more important than all of that. What will she do now? Perhaps she still hates me—won't let me come near her—it's my own fault after all; I kept away for so long, wouldn't let her come near me. Oh! but she must have someone to help her!"
After a while Lizzie thought—"She won't be practical—she won't know the things that ought to be done—I'll wait a little and then I'll go."
Then she slept. She awoke with a clear active brain; she felt as though she could be awake now for weeks—a tremendous energy filled her....
She left her room and at the turn of the passage met a thick-set clean-shaven man whom she knew for Cramp—one of the most famous of the London doctors, a man whom she had sometimes seen with Christopher at the Portland Place house.
She stopped him—"I'm Miss Rand, Doctor—Lady Adela's secretary—we've met in London—I want you to tell me how I can help."
He shook hands with her, eyeing her with approval—
"Why, yes, of course—How do you do, Miss Rand? Yes, you're just the sort we want. For the moment Lady Seddon's my chief anxiety—she's borne up splendidly so far, but now I am a little afraid. I've got her to go and lie down—would you go to her, Miss Rand? Just be with her a little and let me know if anything happens——"
"Sir Roderick?"