"Edith!" reproved the Squire. "A pretty one you are for a sick room! If you cannot be calm and quiet, better keep out of it."
He quitted it himself as he spoke, called for his own groom, and bade him hasten for Mr. King. Rupert looked better when he returned; the spasm, or whatever it was, had passed, and he was holding the hand of Mrs. Chattaway.
"Aunt Edith was frightened," he said, turning his eyes on his uncle.
"She always was one to be frightened at nothing," cried the Squire. "Do you feel faint, my boy?"
"It's gone now," answered Rupert.
Mrs. Chattaway poured out some cordial, and he drank it without difficulty. Afterwards he seemed to revive, and spoke to them now and then, though he lay so still as to give an idea that all motion had departed from him. Even when the sound of wheels was heard in the avenue he did not stir, though he evidently heard.
"It's only Ralph," remarked the Squire. "I sent him out in the gig."
Rupert slightly shook his head and a half-smile illumined his face. The Squire also became aware of the fact that what they heard was not the noise of gig-wheels. He went down to the hall-door.
It was the carriage bringing back the bride and bridegroom. Maude sprang lightly in, and the Squire took her in his arms.
"Welcome home, my darling!"