Lucy felt the burning hand laid on her shoulder press more heavily: "No one else must ever know, but you promise that you will tell him——"
"I promise," said Lucy again. "I will tell him exactly what you have told me, and no one else shall ever know."
A slight noise made her look round. Doctor McKirdy stood in the doorway. He was bare-headed, but he still wore the great coat in which he had driven from Halnakeham. He was pale, his plain face set in a watchful, alert grimace, as his eyes took in every detail of the scene, of the room before him.
Barbara gave a cry—or was it a moan?—of relief. He turned and slipped the bolt in the door. "Time for talking secrets will come next week," then he took off his great coat, washed his hands—with a gruff word of commendation at the fact that there were water, soap, a towel, in what had been a disused room—turned up his sleeves, and bade Lucy stand aside.
"Now," he said, quickly, "would ye rather go away, Miss Lucy? If yes, there's the door!"
"Can I help you?" Lucy was very pale; she felt sick, a little faint.
"If ye were ye're mother, I should say yes——"
"Then I'll stay," said Lucy.
"'Twould be an ill thing if such a brave pair had produced a chicken-livered lass, eh?"
He did not speak again till everything there was to see had been seen, till everything there was to do had been done; it seemed a very long business to Lucy, and by the time the doctor had finished tears were rolling down her face. How could she have thought that perhaps Mrs. Rebell was not much hurt after all? "Now ye're just to have a good sip of that brandy ye've been giving Mrs. Rebell. I'm well pleased with ye both!" And when Lucy shook her head, he gave her such a look that she hastened to obey him, and suddenly felt a flash of sympathy for drunkards. How wonderful that a few spoonfuls of this horrid stuff should check her wish to cry, and make her feel sensible again!