Down they went with a splash. The carriage swayed, was lifted, was swung round—the horses lunged; one of the doors was burst open and the water poured in. Mrs. Cranceford clung to the Major, but she uttered not a word. Up the slippery bank the horses strained. One of them fell, but he was up in a moment. Firmer footing was gained, and the road was reached. Now they were in a lane. The Major struck a match and looked at his watch. It was nearly two o'clock. Across the fields came a light—from Louise's window.
The carriage drew up at the gate.
"That you, Major?" a voice asked.
"Yes. Why, how did you get here, Jim?"
"Tore down the fences and rode across the fields."
"How is he?" the Major asked, helping his wife to the ground.
"I haven't been in—been walking up and down out here. Thought I'd wait for you."
At the entrance of the passageway Louise met them. She kissed her mother, saying not a word. The Major held out his arms toward her. She pretended not to notice this complete surrender; she took his hand and turned her face from him.
"My poor little girl, I——"
She dropped his hand, opened the door of a room opposite the dying man's chamber and said: "Step in here, please. Mother, you and Jim may come with me."