“Where did it happen? where is she lying?” was Lettice’s next question.
“Oh, close by,” replied Ivie, “a—that is, at Ardvaroch, not very far from here.”
“At Ardvaroch?” repeated Lettice. She did not know much of the geography of the neighbourhood. She knew there were waterfalls at or near Ardvaroch, and that it was something of a show place, but she had an idea it was somewhere among the blue Auchterils.
“A—that is, near Ardvaroch,” resumed Captain McCormack, seeing her surprise; and then they drove on some distance in silence.
Presently Lettice recommenced: “Captain McCormack, how much further have we to go? We have been nearly an hour as it is.”
“Oh, we’re nearly there, Miss Tremarten; another ten minutes only.” And again he whipped up the ponies.
Another ten minutes passed, and another and another, and Lettice began to feel chill and strange. A sudden turn in the road had brought them into a tract of desolate, flinty country. The fair pastureland, with its well-fed cattle and pleasant-looking cottages, had altogether disappeared. Wild, uncultivated fields skirted either side of the road, with here and there a ragged brown fir, and the dark heather-crowned hills stood out in gloomy distinctness against the changing light of the autumn sky.
“Captain McCormack,” began Lettice once more, “have you any idea how I’m to get back again?”
“Oh, Lettice,” exclaimed the captain, “talk about getting to her if you will. My poor Lilla! even now it may be all over with her.”
Lettice made no reply. Somehow she could not realise the captain’s grief, and there was an unreality, a mystery about it all which greatly puzzled her. “Well, anyhow I must finish what I’ve begun,” she reasoned, trying to reassure herself. “Aunties will be in an awful rage when I get back, no doubt, and will pack me off home tomorrow, I daresay, but won’t papa be glad to see me, that’s all! Heigho! those dear old Welsh hills!”
So they went on and on, Lettice wondering when and where and how the journey would end. The sun began to fire the western sky, the shadows began to lengthen and the hills to glow orange and scarlet instead of purple and brown, when suddenly the captain drew rein before a low stone-built cottage which stood sideways to the lonely road.
“Is this the farmhouse?” asked Lettice in surprise.
“Queer place, isn’t it?” rejoined the captain; “they call it farmhouse about here, but where the farm is I don’t know.”
A woman came out, but her Scotch was so broad that Lettice made no attempt to understand her. The captain somehow made her comprehend that the lady wanted to see the sick lady upstairs, and “Send your husband, my good woman,” he added, “to see to my ponies.”
A man came out as he spoke, and Lettice, leaving the captain to look after his horses, followed the woman up a flight of somewhat dark narrow stairs.
They entered a low-roofed room, and there, stretched on a mattress on the floor or on some improvised bed, Lettice could trace in the growing darkness the outline of her friend.
“Thank God, Lettice, you are come!” said Lilla in a faint voice. “It was selfish of me to send for you, but if you only knew what I have suffered and what was on my mind when I fell—”
Lilla stopped suddenly, for Lettice, overtired with the day’s excitement and fatigue, had broken down utterly, and flinging herself on to the floor by the side of her friend, had hidden her face in the pillows, and was sobbing convulsively.
“Oh, hush‑sh, my darling,” said Lilla. “Now I feel how selfish I’ve been. Oh do forgive me, but when I fell I had but one thought on my mind. Oh, hush‑sh, hush‑sh, dear, don’t give way so.”
“No‑o,” said Lettice, partially recovering herself, “I won’t give way. But don’t have anything on your mind, Lilla. I’ve heard papa say that our poor old vicar, Wynne Williams, didn’t get well because he had something on his mind, and you won’t get well if you’ve anything on your mind. Tell me what it is at once, dear.”
“Oh, it was about poor old Ivie, Lettice. You know we have been everything to each other for so many years, and I’ve taken care of him all through his life. He is so brokenhearted about me, and what will he do when I’m gone if you don’t take pity on him?”
Lettice started. She had not expected this. Her face was still hidden in the pillows, but Lilla felt her hand tremble in her clasp.
“But you’re not going to die, Lilla; I know you won’t; and Captain Ivie doesn’t really care a bit about me—”
“Oh yes, dear, he does,” interrupted Lilla; “he is almost mad about you, but doesn’t dare ask you because he is so poor and you will be so dreadfully rich, and if I die—”
Lettice looked up, sobbing still. “Now, Lilla”—a sob—“don’t talk like that”—another sob. “If you die (but of course you won’t) I promise you I’ll marry Captain Ivie. There, you’ve nothing on your mind now, so be quiet.”
Then she laid her head down on the pillows and sobbed again.
Lilla made no reply. It wasn’t quite the answer she expected to have, but still she felt she must be contented with it. She had, so she hoped, in some sort paved the way for her brother to go in and win.
Presently the captain came up. Lettice did not lift her head. Somehow she felt she couldn’t look him in the face just then. “I know, Miss Tremarten,” he said very softly, “you will be glad to hear that the doctor, who came to my sister while I was away fetching you, doesn’t think there are any bones broken—in fact, he hopes tomorrow we shall be able to
