"I lie here always, Lucy. Getting off only at night to go to my bed in the next room. Now and then, if I am particularly well, they draw me across the garden to church in a hand-chair: but that is very seldom. Sit down. Here, close to me."
"And what is the matter with you?"
"It has to do with the spine, my dear. A bright young girl like you need not be troubled with the complication of particulars. The worst of it is, Lucy, that I shall be as I am for life."
"Oh Margaret!"
Miss Sumnor raised her work again and set a few stitches, as if determined not to give way to any kind of emotion. Lady Andinnian's face wore quite a frightened look.
" Surely not for always, Margaret!"
"I believe so. The doctors say so. Papa went to the expense of having a very clever man down from London; but he only confirmed what Mr. Moore had feared."
"Then, Margaret, I think it was a cruel thing to let you know it. Hope and good spirits go so far to help recovery, no matter what the illness may be. Did the doctors tell you?"
"They told my father, not me. I learnt it through--through a sort of accident, Lucy," added Miss Sumnor: who would not explain that it was through the carelessness--to call it by a light name--of her stepmother. "After all, it is best that I should know it. I see it is now, if I did not at the time."
"How it must have tried you!"