THE LAST.
Aunt Pike grew slowly and gradually stronger, and in time was able to be dressed, and could sit up in her chair. But she knew, and the doctors knew, that she would never again be the same strong, active woman that she was before. The doctors had hopes that in time she would be able to walk again, and take up some of her old ways and duties; but she herself was not so hopeful, and with the prospect before her of a long spell of invalidism, she insisted on leaving Dr. Trenire's home for one of her own.
The doctor and all protested warmly, but Aunt Pike was determined. "Kitty can look after the house now better than she could," she said, "and I shall be glad of the rest and quiet. I shall not leave Gorlay. I want to be near you all, so that if Kitty wants any advice I shall be at hand to give it."
So, seeing that her heart was set upon it, and feeling that the quieter, less busy home would be better for her, Dr. Trenire gave in, and they all set to work to find a house to suit her. But here they found a task which taxed all their time and patience. It had to be a small house, sheltered yet sunny, of a moderate rent, but in a good position; it must have, as well as a sitting-room, a room on the ground floor that Mrs. Pike could turn into a bedroom, and it must have a garden with no steps—a rarity in hilly Gorlay.
There were not very many houses in Gorlay, and very few to let; certainly few with all, or even half, of the advantages Mrs. Pike demanded; and at last in despair the doctor had to prevail on an old friend and patient of his own to move from his house and give it up to the invalid, which, marvellous to tell, he did, and, even more marvellous, the house pleased Aunt Pike immensely. The garden was made to suit her by removing all the steps and replacing them with sloping, winding paths and various other cunning devices; and the doctor saw that everything that could add to her comfort was done for her. Then came the great excitement of furnishing the house and stocking the garden.
But before all this had happened, Anna had provided them with a great and glad surprise, though at the same time a painful one; for the only wish of all concerned was that the past should lie buried, and the stupid, regrettable incident that had caused so much sorrow should be forgotten.
They were all seated at tea one day—the children and Dr. Trenire around the table, and Aunt Pike in her big chair near the window—when suddenly the door was burst open, and Anna, whose absence had set them all wondering, walked in.
"I have done it!" she cried excitedly. "I have told them all—Lady Kitson and Miss Richards and Miss Matilda—and—and now," sobbing hysterically with nervous excitement, "I want to go away from Gorlay. I can't stay here. I want to get away from every one until—until they have forgotten. I'd like to go to Kitty's school. May I, mother?"
"Told all what?" asked Mrs. Pike eagerly, ignoring all of Anna's outcry but that.
"Told them all about that—that evening, and me and Lettice. I wanted to try to forget it, and I couldn't until I had told them all."