That poor lady, recalled thus to a sense of duty, hurried from the room, and the Bishop, who had opened the door for her, closed it gently behind her.
"You must excuse her, my lord," said Mr. Gresley; "the truth is, we are all somewhat upset this morning. Hester would have saved us much uneasiness, I may say anxiety, if she had mentioned to us yesterday evening that she was going back to you. No doubt she overtook your carriage, which put up at the inn for half an hour."
"No," said the Bishop, "she came on foot. She—walked all the way."
Mr. Gresley smiled. "I am afraid, my lord, Hester has given you an inaccurate account. I assure you, she is incapable of walking five miles, much less ten."
"She took about five hours to do it," said the Bishop, who had hesitated an instant, as if swallowing something unpalatable. "In moments of great excitement nervous persons like your sister are capable of almost anything. The question is, whether she will survive the shock that drove her out of your house last night. Her hands are severely burned. Dr. Brown, whom I left with her, fears brain fever."
The Bishop paused, giving his words time to sink in. Then he went on slowly in a level voice, looking into the fire.
"She still thinks that she has killed Regie. She won't believe the doctor and me when we assure her she has not. She turns against us for deceiving her."
Mr. Gresley wrestled with a very bitter feeling towards his sister, overcame it, and said, hoarsely:
"Tell her from me that Regie is not much the worse, and tell her that I—that his mother and I—forgive her."
"Not me, James," sobbed Mrs. Gresley. "It is too soon. I don't. I can't. If I said I did I should not feel it."