She pulled up her father's haggard face from the bed.
“Oh, daddy, daddy, you know it's true. Never walk again!”
She turned with a pitiful cry to The Duke, who stood white and stiff with arms drawn tight across his breast on the other side of the bed.
“Oh, Duke, did you hear them? You told me to be brave, and I tried not to cry when they hurt me. But I can't be brave! Can I, Duke? Oh, Duke! Never to ride again!”
She stretched out her hands to him. But The Duke, leaning over her and holding her hands fast in his, could only say brokenly over and over: “Don't, Gwen! Don't, Gwen dear!”
But the pitiful, pleading voice went on.
“Oh, Duke! Must I always lie here? Must, I? Why must I?”
“God knows,” answered The Duke bitterly, under his breath, “I don't!”
She caught at the word.
“Does He?” she cried, eagerly. Then she paused suddenly, turned to me and said: “Do you remember he said some day I could not do as I liked?”