Norah straightened with a gasp of astonishment.
“You!” she said.
“Me!” said Dick Stephenson ungrammatically, holding out his hand. “You’re my pupil, aren’t you? Is anything wrong?”
“There’s a poor gentleman near to dyin’ in the scrub,” volunteered Mrs. Brown, “an’ Miss Norah’s come all the way in for help. Fifteen mile, if it’s a inch! I don’t know ow’ you did it, my blessed pet!”
“You don’t mean to say you did!” said the new “governess” amazed. Small girls like this had not come his way. “By Jove, you’re plucky! I say, what’s up?”
Norah was very pale.
“Are you really Mr. Stephenson?” she asked. “I... You’ll be surprised.... He’s...” Her voice failed her.
“Don’t worry to talk,” he said gently. “You’re done up.”
“No—” She steadied her voice. “I must tell you. It’s—it’s—your father!”
Dick Stephenson’s face suddenly darkened.