“If it was the evening express for London,” said Sims, taking out his watch—Mrs Bence had gone off in quest of the prescribed cup of tea—“he certainly has, Miss. There is a slower one an hour later; he will be in plenty of time for that.”
This information somewhat consoled me. I said nothing more, nor did Moore. And after a while we got him upstairs and settled in bed as comfortably as was possible under the circumstances.
The poor foot looked in very bad case when we had got it quite free, and Mrs Bence groaned over it in much distress. But when the doctor came our spirits rose again. It proved to be only a sprain, and not a very severe one, though painful. Perfect quiet and minute attention to his orders would do wonders, he assured me, to my great relief.
“You are alone here for the present, I understand,” he said. “Mr and Miss Wynyard are away?”
“Yes,” I replied, “but only for a day or two. I believe they will be back by Saturday.”
“By Saturday,” he repeated. “Ah, well—by Saturday I think you will see great improvement. The swelling will have gone down, I hope. Let me see! How did you say it happened? A fall, was it?”
We had not said anything at all as to how it had happened, but luckily we were not called upon to reply, for Mrs Bence, who was a little deaf, came just then innocently to our aid by some inquiry as to the arrangements for the night. Should she or Sims sit up with Master Moore?
“Oh, no—no need of it,” said the doctor. “He will probably sleep far better if he is left alone. Let him have a hand-bell within reach, and some one near enough to hear if he rings;” whereupon my own maid, who had been dying to be of use, came forward to suggest that she should sleep in a small dressing-room next door, and where she would hear the slightest sound. This was agreed to, then followed repeated directions from the doctor as to liniments and bandages, and then at last I gave in to Mrs Bence’s reiterated entreaties that I would come downstairs and have a bit of dinner—Moore joining his voice to hers, and promising to eat something himself, though he owned that he was not feeling “exactly hungry.”
I was terribly tired if not hungry, and I felt grateful for the unusual tact which made Sims and his underlings leave me alone once the good man had satisfied himself that everything I was in want of was within reach.
I had plenty to think of; not a little to blame myself for, though farther back than the actual events of this strange evening; still more to be very thankful about—how easily my young brother might have been, if not killed, at least terribly injured, crippled perhaps for life, by no greater an accident!