"Good little girl!" he said, closing his eyes again and smiling contentedly. The thought that his den might have been discovered had been worrying the doctor. Its secrecy had been one of its great charms to the eccentric man, and the knowledge that it was no longer secret would have been a real trouble to him.
He did not talk any more, and Marjory asked no questions, though she was naturally very anxious to know exactly how the accident had happened.
Mr. Forester came up later in the evening to inquire how things were going. Lisbeth had sent a message by the coachman who had come for Marjory that there had been an accident to Dr. Hunter, and that she would like Jean to come back at once unless she was very badly wanted.
Mr. Forester was very kind. He told Marjory how they had all missed her, and promised that some day they would give another party expressly for her. He did not tease her at all, and Marjory liked him better than she ever had as yet. She could not have stood any teasing, poor child, after all she had been through. The sight of her uncle, injured as he was, hurt her sorely. She could not see suffering without feeling pain herself, and it was a pale-faced girl, on the verge of tears, who answered Mr. Forester's inquiries.
When Marjory went to her room her things for the party were still lying on the bed. The sight of them struck a chill to her heart, for it made her realize how little one can tell what a day may bring; how evening may see changes undreamt of in the morning. The party which had seemed all-important when she woke that day had dwindled away into nothing, blotted out of sight by the happenings of the last few hours. Still, her chief feeling was one of great thankfulness that the doctor thought her uncle would get over this trouble; and that she had been of some use to him was also a comforting thought. She fell asleep thinking how she would try to nurse him and to take care of him until he was better.
When the doctor was able to talk more, he explained to Marjory that he had been trying a dangerous experiment that day. He had heard the dinner-bell ring, but was loath to leave his work, and in the end had forgotten all about it, having become entirely absorbed in his occupation. Something—perhaps a flaw in the glass—had caused one of the tubes he was using to burst, and the chemicals burnt his hands. At the sudden shock he started back, and in some way lost his balance and fell, striking his head on a corner of the table and falling on to the broken glass. He must have lost consciousness from the blow on his head, and he could not tell how long he had lain as Marjory found him, but he had felt so weak that every effort to rise made him faint again, and he supposed he must have lain for a long time in a half-conscious condition.
It was some weeks before he was quite himself again, and Marjory made a most devoted nurse. She could hardly bear to leave him in case he might want her when she was gone. Her feeling for him was a revelation to herself, for she knew now that she really loved this uncle of hers whom she had once thought to be hard and cruel and indifferent to her. She considered him very much changed, but in reality the change was in herself. Blanche's friendship, the kindness of the Foresters, Miss Waspe's wise and careful teaching, had all combined to expand her really warm and loving nature, which had threatened at one time to become soured and warped for want of love's sunshine. Her uncle, as Mrs. Forester had predicted on that memorable day in the plantation, had met half-way any advances that she had made, and the result had been the establishment of much happier relations between them. Now that he was ill and dependent upon her, it was Marjory's delight to wait upon him, and to fetch and carry for him, and her uncle was deeply touched by the girl's whole-hearted devotion to him.
Marjory did not see so much of Blanche and the others after the doctor's accident, for she did not join their expeditions, but she usually managed to meet her friend once a day to exchange news. Herbert Morison had now joined the company, and Alan was half inclined to resent this, although the girls had made no objection. He came to see Marjory one day—in fact, as soon as he thought he might venture to do so without being in the way—and he freely expressed his opinion upon the subject of the new member.
"It's all very fine," he said, "for Herbert to come tacking himself on to my friends. I wasn't good enough for him before. He only makes an ass of himself, and I'm sure Maud laughs at him. It all happened through him going to the party. He said afterwards that she was ripping, and licked all the others into fits; and now it's a new tie every day, and a polish on his boots fit to dazzle you, so that he hates to get 'em muddy, and always wants to go the easiest way everywhere. Rot, I call it. He asked Maud yesterday if she liked his tie—silly booby!—and she said it was useful as a danger-signal, cos you could see it a long way off. Crikey! how red he got; and to-day he put on a very sad-looking gray one." And Master Alan went off into fits of laughter at the recollection of his brother's discomfiture.
"Oh, well," replied Marjory, always sorry for the man who is down, so to speak, "he can see that Maud likes pretty things, and I suppose he thought he was pleasing her."