"It was what I was venturin' to recommend," said Patsy, giving her the key.
She went on quickly, a new cause for trouble oppressing her. She had not waited to ask questions of Patsy…. Was Stella very ill? What had happened to the poor child? How was she going to tell Terry? These were some of the questions that hammered at her ears as she hurried on as fast as her feet could carry her.
She was at the South lodge before she remembered the dogs. Shot might be trusted to be quiet, but the Poms, in a strange house, would bark incessantly. She shut the gate between them and her, leaving it unlocked for the doctor. Their shrill protests followed her as she went down the road.
She stood by the gable-end of the house and called up to the window, open at the top, which she knew to be that of Stella's room. While she waited expectantly, she became aware of a low voice talking very quickly in a queer monotonous way. Susan came to the window and looked out above the lace blind. She made a signal that she would open the gate and disappeared.
Lady O'Gara went on to the gate and saw Susan coming down the little avenue. Susan, dropping the curtsey which had doubtless been the meed of the Squire's lady, opened the gate for her.
"I'm troubled about the poor young lady, m'lady," she said, jerking her thumb backwards towards the cottage. "I wish her mother'd come back. She do keep callin' for her, somethink pitiful."
"Leave the gate open, Susan; I expect the doctor immediately."
"I'm sorry for your own trouble, m'lady," Susan said. "I hope Sir
Shawn's doin' nicely now?"
"There is no change yet. But the doctor seems confident."
"There: I am pleased," said Susan.