“My girls,” she said in a dreamy voice, “my girls have come back to me—I knew they were good girls——”
Then her eyes closed, and she fell into a profound and peaceful slumber.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
“BUT, Doctor, is there no hope that with care and time, she will be able to walk again?”
“I am sorry to say, none whatever. I am only thankful that my patient has survived at all. It was little short of a miracle, and you must be thankful for that.”
Mrs. Fullerton had always been an active woman, in spite of not being very robust, and a life passed on a couch had peculiar terrors for her. The nervous system had been wrecked, not by any one shock or event, but by the accumulated strains of a lifetime. The constitution was broken up, once and for all.
A cottage had been taken, as near as possible to the Red House, where the old couple were to settle for the rest of their days, within reach of their children and grandchildren. Every wish of the invalid must be respected, just or unjust. Absolute repose of mind and body was imperatively necessary, and this could only be attained for her by a complete surrender, on the part of her children, of any course of action that she seriously disapproved. The income was too limited to allow of Algitha’s returning to her parents; otherwise Mrs. Fullerton would have wished it. Algitha had now to provide for herself, as the allowance that her father had given her could not be continued. She had previously done her work for nothing, but now Mrs. Trevelyan, under whose care she had been living, offered her a paid post in a Convalescent Home in which she was interested.
“I am exceptionally fortunate,” said Algitha, “for Mrs. Trevelyan has arranged most kindly, so that I can get away to see mother and father at the end of every week.”
Both Mr. and Mrs. Fullerton had taken it for granted that Hadria would remain at the Red House, and that Hubert would “forgive” her, as they put it.