“You are still faint, dear Norman; you had better lie still, and I’ll go and see.”
“Faint--stuff--how horridly stupid!” but he was obliged to lay his head down again; and Ethel, scarcely less trembling, crept carefully towards the stairs, but a dread of what she might meet came over her, and she turned towards the nursery.
The younger ones sat there in a frightened huddle. Mary was on a low chair by the infant’s cot, Blanche in her lap, Tom and Harry leaning against her, and Aubrey almost asleep. Mary held up her finger as Ethel entered, and whispered, “Hush! don’t wake baby for anything!”
The first true pang of grief shot through Ethel like a dart, stabbing and taking away her breath, “Where are they?” she said; “how is papa? who is with him?”
“Mr. Ward and Alan Ernescliffe,” said Harry. “Nurse came up just now, and said they were setting his arm.”
“On the bed in his dressing-room,” said Harry.
They did not seem to know, and Ethel asked where to find Flora. “With Margaret,” she was told, and she was thinking whether she could venture to seek her, when she herself came fast up the stairs. Ethel and Harry both darted out. “Don’t stop me,” said Flora--“they want some handkerchiefs.”
“No,” said Harry, “in mamma’s;” and then his face quivered all over, and he turned away. Ethel ran after her sister, and pulling out drawers without knowing what she sought, begged to hear how papa and Margaret were.
“We can’t judge of Margaret--she has moved, and made a little moaning--there are no limbs broken, but we are afraid for her head. Oh! if papa could but--”
“Mr. Ward is with him now--his arm is terribly hurt.”
“But oh! Flora--one moment--is he sensible?”
“Hardly; he does not take any notice--but don’t keep me.”
“Can I do anything?” following her to the head of the stairs.
“No; I don’t see what you can do. Miss Winter and I are with Margaret; there’s nothing to do for her.”
It was a relief. Etheldred shrank from what she might have to behold, and Flora hastened down, too busy and too useful to have time to think. Harry had gone back to his refuge in the nursery, and Ethel returned to Norman. There they remained for a long time, both unwilling to speak or stir, or even to observe to each other on the noises that came in to them, as their door was left ajar, though in those sounds they were so absorbed, that they did not notice the cold of a frosty October evening, or the darkness that closed in on them.