‘Go away!’ I replied in wonderment. ‘How can a child like that go away? What do you mean?’
He made no answer, but went on, as if in continuance of his own remarks: ‘It would kill my mother, and I think it would me, if Margerie were to’—— Then he stopped short.
I began to understand his meaning; but I said no more, for this was a sort of mood I had never seen Frank Stewart in before, and I did not know how to meet it. So the conversation ceased, and for a time I forgot all about it.
It was one afternoon some time after this that the Stewarts, one or two other fellows, and myself, were going home from school, not quite in our usual spirits, for a cricket-match we had played the day before had ended—rather unusually for us—in our suffering a disastrous defeat. True to human nature, instead of taking kindly to our reverse of fortune, we tried to find a pair of shoulders on which we might conveniently put the whole load of blame, and the owner of the shoulders happened to be Frank Stewart, who had been the captain of our Eleven, and who, we thought, had not managed matters very discreetly. In the course of our discussion on the subject, the two brothers irritated each other to such an extent that they came to blows. We tried to pacify them; but in vain. I am afraid that, like every British schoolboy, we had just a sort of lurking fondness for a good fair fight, which made the fray not without interest for us. Anyway, we watched it so intently that we did not see a childish figure come to the garden-gate leading to the Stewarts’ house, and pausing a little to take in what was passing, run quickly down the road towards us. We saw and heard nothing until Queen Margerie was close to the struggling lads, calling on them piteously to stop; but in a moment—blinded and deafened with excitement—one of them stumbled against her, and fell—dragging the other with him—heavily over her to the ground.
The boys quickly rose unhurt, but the child never stirred. There she lay, the poor little face deadly pale, except where there were a few stains of blood from a bruise on the temple; and one arm seemed to have suffered some injury. There was for a moment a faint look of recognition, just a feeble attempt to smile, and then there was unconsciousness.
The whole thing took place so suddenly that none of us at first could realise it. For an instant or two the Stewarts seemed perfectly dazed, kneeling by the child, and calling her by name, as if she were only making a pretence of being hurt, and would spring into their arms presently. Then the truth seemed to burst upon them, restoring their self-possession; for, taking the little form gently to his breast, Frank Stewart strode hurriedly homewards, entreating us, as he went, to bring a doctor. We lost no time on our errand, and medical help was soon at hand. Shortly afterwards, we heard that the arm was fractured, but that that was not so serious as the injury to the head, from which the gravest results might be feared.
We did not see the Stewarts again at school during that term, of which a few days only remained. For three days they watched with their mother by the child’s bedside, scarcely ever taking food or sleep. At times she was conscious, and gave them one of her old looks, or feebly held out her hand to touch theirs. Once or twice she rallied enough to speak a little, but not a word passed her lips about her injuries or the cause of them. She only asked them not to forget her when she had gone, for she seemed to think that the shadows would soon be falling about her.
Once, I remember, when I called to make inquiries, Frank Stewart came down to see me. I scarcely knew him, he looked so altered. ‘It is bad enough to see her dying,’ he said, sobbing: ‘but to think of its being my fault!’—and he broke down utterly.
What words of comfort could a schoolboy utter in the presence of such grief? What could I say, when I feared they were only waiting for the King’s messenger to take Queen Margerie where pain and weariness are not known? For though the doctor said there was a chance, that chance seemed but a slender one.