“Mr Wynyard and his daughter are away,” I replied. “We can’t hide the accident of course, but if we could hide that it was here. Oh, if we could!”
Moore echoed what I said. In his anxiety he sat up, almost forgetting the pain.
“If you could get me outside the wall,” he said, “and then Reggie could fetch some one—there are cottages not far off—or I wouldn’t even mind waiting while you went home,” he added, turning to me.
“No, no,” said the stranger, “that would never do. There must be no avoidable delay.” He stopped a moment. “I think I have it!” he exclaimed, “and here comes Mr Grey. For his sake, too, it is best to avoid any gossip, as he is so sensitive. I will go and speak to him for a moment;” and he was moving away, when he turned towards me again. “Don’t misunderstand him or them,” he said quickly. “They are the kindest-hearted people in the world.”
Then for two or three minutes Moore and I were left alone.
“I wonder what they are going to do,” I said anxiously, for I saw that the two were talking together eagerly. “O Moore, I shall never, never for—”
“Forgive me?” said the boy, trying to smile, though he winced with pain as he did so. “Well, I suppose I must bear it.”
“Nonsense?” I replied indignantly. “I was only going to say that I shall never forget this evening, not if I live to be a hundred. But I would not be so mean and cruel as to talk of never forgiving, when you are already so punished.”
By this time Mr Grey and the stranger were close to us, the former looking, if possible, more gloomy and harassed than usual; by which term must be understood, so far as I am concerned, the expression of his face in church! His companion was still talking quickly, but I only heard the elder man’s reply.
“Well, yes,” were his words. “I suppose it is the best thing to do. The servants would make a wild story of it. The flyman—”—and here I think I detected a grim smile—“would probably give out that we set man-traps along the wall.”