“If you please, marm, a messenger has come to request Miss Greaves to return home at once. Mr Greaves has had a sudden stroke—”
We all stood up quickly, all save poor Vere, who has to be still whatever happens. Rachel turned very white, and Will went up to her, and took her hand in his. He looked at me, and I guessed what he meant, and said quickly—
“The motor-car! It shall come round at once, and you will be home in five minutes. I’ll go round to the stables!”
I rushed off, thankful to be able to help, and to put off thinking as long as possible, but even as I ran the thought flew through my head. A stroke! That was serious—very serious in Mr Greaves’s weakened condition. I could tell from Burrows’ manner that the message had been urgent. Perhaps even now the end of the long suffering was at hand—the end of something else, too; of what had seemed an hour ago a practically hopeless engagement!
Chapter Twenty One.
August 12th.
It is a long time since I opened this diary, for I have grown out of the habit of writing, and it is difficult to get into it again.
Mr Greaves died the very night of his seizure, and immediately after his funeral Mrs Greaves collapsed and has been an invalid ever since. It seemed as if she had kept up to the very limit of her endurance, for as soon as the strain was over her nerves gave way in a rush, and instead of the gentle, self-controlled creature which she has been all her life, she is now just a bundle of fancies, tears and repinings. It is hard on Rachel, but she bears it like an angel, and is always patient and amiable. I wondered at first if she and Will would marry soon and take Mrs Greaves to live with them; I asked Rachel about it one day when we were having a quiet chat, and she answered quite openly: