"No, I did not know that," she replied.
"I am sorry to say so; but he has not been robust for some time; his heart is not what I should like it to be—but there, I am frightening you, and I hope unnecessarily; so far as I can see, there is no reason for serious alarm to-night. Be brave, child; if there is to be illness in the house, you will want all your strength; husband it now by having a good meal and going to bed early, and try to sleep. I shall send the district nurse in to sit up with Mr. Woodford, and you can wire to town to-morrow for a permanent one—at least—you can do that if—if it is necessary," he added hesitatingly, for as he was speaking the remembrance of a hint of monetary difficulties in a recent conversation with Mr. Woodford recurred unpleasantly to his mind.
To think of his old friends, the inmates of the Abbey House, being threatened with poverty seemed almost too extraordinary to be true. Surely there must be a mistake somewhere!
The kind doctor shook off the unpleasant doubt, and, pressing the girl's hand warmly, bade her farewell, with a last promise to call later and not forget to send the nurse.
When he had gone, Margaret stole softly into her father's room, and gazed silently at the still figure upon the bed.
The patient was breathing a little unevenly, but his eyes were closed, and he seemed to be sleeping.
Old John sat by the bedside anxiously watching his master's face.
Reassured by her father's peaceful attitude, his daughter went downstairs and did her best to do as Dr. Crane had told her. For she was sensible enough to realise that if there was trouble to be faced in the unknown future, giving way at the outset would be both foolish and cowardly.
After all, she was a Woodford, and with the courage of her race she knew she must meet difficulties with a stiff lip.
But it was a relief when Nurse Somers arrived, with her cheerful air of confidence and reliability, and took charge of the sick-room.