“It is quite time for you to go, dears,” she said. “I will come in to say good-night, and will tell you if there is anything different.”
But they, too, had seen the girl’s white face and tremulous lips.
“No, no,” cried both together, “let her say it before us. Aunt Margaret, we must hear.”
And then the dreaded word came.
“Worse,” and with a burst of irrepressible tears, for she was only a girl herself, she went on confusedly, “they scarcely think—Dr Wilkins is afraid—he may not live through the night.”
Poor Miss Fortescue, who had risen from her chair, staggered back into it. Miss Greenall had already rushed away. Leila stood by the table as if turned to stone, white as a sheet. Christabel, the tears pouring again from her still swollen and aching eyes, flung herself on the floor before her aunt.
“I must tell, I must,” she sobbed in wild despair.
“I can’t bear it, Lelly, I can’t, and you needn’t be afraid. I was the worst. You meant to help me. I’ll take all the blame—all, all—I’ll—oh, what can I do? I’d be cut in pieces if it would do any good. Oh Japs, Japs, my own little Japs! Auntie, Auntie, listen—it was all me.”
Miss Fortescue raised her without speaking and drew her on to her knee.
“I am listening, my child,” she said.