Fanny and Cynthia hastened in one direction towards the hospital, and Andrew towards home; but he paused for a minute, and looked thoughtfully up at the humming pile of Lloyd's. The battle was over and the strike was ended. He drew a great sigh, and went home to see to the kitchen fire.
Chapter LVIII
Lyman Risley was very seriously injured. There was, as the men had reported, danger for his eyes. When Robert was called into the reception-room of the hospital to see his aunt, he scarcely recognized her. Her soft, white hair was tossed about her temples, her cheeks were burning. She ran up to him like an eager child and clutched his arm.
“How is he?” she demanded. “Tell me quick!”
“They are doing everything they can for him. Why, don't, poor Aunt Cynthia!”
“His eyes, they said—”
“I hope he will come out all right. Don't, dear Aunt Cynthia.” The young man put his arm around his aunt and spoke soothingly, blushing like a girl before this sudden revelation of an under-stratum of delicacy in a woman's heart.
Cynthia lost control of herself completely; or, rather, the true self of her rose uppermost, shattering the surface ice of her reserve. “Oh,” she said—“oh, if he—if he is—blind, if he is—I—I—will lead him everywhere all the rest of his life; I will, Robert.”
“Of course you will, dear Aunt Cynthia,” replied Robert, soothingly.
Suddenly Cynthia's face took on a new expression. She looked at Robert, deadly pale, and her jaw dropped. “He will not—die,” she said, with stiff lips. “It is not as bad as that?”