"Bless you, Wyn!" he said. "But we must not be too indebted to these good folks, you know."
"I know! I'll manage it! We must give them a present. They are really well-to-do, and don't want our money. Besides, they are, owing to us, the centre of attraction to the neighborhood. All Edge Combe is for ever making pilgrimages up here to know how you are faring. You are the hero of the hour."
"And you can't tell me what it all means?" he asked, with corrugated brow.
"I can tell you no more at present," she answered, rising as she spoke. "I must feed you again, and you shall rest an hour or two before you do any more talking, and, if you are disobedient, I shall send for Dr. Forbes."
Whether Osmond found this threat very appalling, or whether what he had already heard supplied him with sufficient food for meditation, was a matter of doubt; but some cause or other kept him absolutely silent for some time; and Wyn, who had retired to her easel, the better to notify that conversation was suspended for the present, by-and-by saw his eyes close, and hoped that he was dozing again. So the afternoon wore on, till voices struck on her ear--voices of persons in eager conversation. They were floated to her through the open window, but came apparently from round the corner of the house, for she could not see the speakers when she looked out.
As the sounds broke the stillness, Osmond's eyes opened wide.
"I don't know," said his sister, peering forth, "I hear Mr. Cranmer, but there is some one else."
Then suddenly a little gush of laughter, high and clear, sailed in on the hot summer air, followed by the distinct notes of a girl's voice.
Osmond stirred again. He rolled right over in bed, and turned his eager face full to the window.
"Stay one minute--I want to hear--who found me by the wayside, as you say, in fragments?"
"A young lady and her maid," was the reply, "She is a Miss Brabourne, I believe, and lives near here. She ran in search of help, and accidentally met a carriage containing two tourists----"
"Brabourne? Isn't that the name of that horrible imp of a child who lives with the Ortons?"
"Yes--I believe it is," said Wyn pausing. "_My nephew, the heir to a very large property_," she presently added, mimicking a masculine drawl, apparently with much success, for her brother laughed.