Then for a while she lay silent, and Mary’s thoughts turned to her own position. What should she do? She was most anxious to get home as soon as possible; it was already past Francie’s tea-time, and before long her mother would be getting alarmed. Besides, how more than disagreeable it would be for her to meet Mr Cheviott again! How could she tell how he might look upon her presence beside his sister, and what she had done to help poor Alys?
She got up from her seat by the bed-side, and with soft steps moved towards the door. But, faint as it was, the sound roused Alys.
“Where are you going, Miss Western?” she said.—“Oh, you are not going away from me are you? You will not leave me alone here—oh, do at least wait till the doctor comes, and hear what he says.”
Mary felt that it would be barbarous to refuse.
“No,” she replied, “I won’t go away if you would like me to stay; I will only just send a note to my mother to tell her where I am, otherwise she will wonder what has become of us. I will get Mrs Wills to send a man with my little sister and the note to mamma.”
“Oh, yes, your little sister—I remember seeing her standing by,” said Alys, dreamily; “I am so sorry to trouble you so. How good you are! Please come and sit beside me. Couldn’t Mrs Wills get you some tea?”
“Would you like some?” said Mary, eagerly catching at anything to break the weary suspense of waiting for the doctor’s arrival.
“I am very thirsty—yes, I think I should,” said Alys, faintly; so Mary hurried off to write her note, and bespeak some tea, though when ready, it was hard work to get Alys to swallow it. She seemed to shrink from the slightest movement with increasing and indescribable terror.
“It will be impossible to move her to Romary,” thought Mary with dismay. “What will be done? I wonder if the groom will have the sense to fetch Mr Cheviott as well as the doctor? I almost wish he would come now—it seems such a responsibility. And if only the doctor would come!”
After all, Dr Brandreth came much sooner than could reasonably have been expected, long as the hour and a half or so of waiting seemed to Mary, for Thwaites met him on the way to Withenden. Mary had just gone, at the doctor’s request, to borrow a pair of scissors from Mrs Wills, to cut off poor Alys’s riding habit, so as to save her all possible suffering, when, passing the open front door on her return, the sound of wheels suddenly stopping at the gate made her pause. Yes, it was Mr Cheviott. Mary hesitated. What should she do? She had no time to decide. Mr Cheviott was at the door before she had thoroughly taken in his arrival.