Jane paused in her bathing, to reply to Miss Thornton’s question.
“She’d have been safe enough, miss, if she’d stayed in the drawing-room, or come up to us; we were in the front garret, and could see it all, out of harm’s way.”
“Where was she then?” said Fanny, drawing nearer by slow degrees, as she became accustomed to the sight of Margaret’s pale face.
“Just before the front door--with master!” said Jane, significantly.
“With John! with my brother! How did she get there?”
“Nay, miss, that’s not for me to say,” answered Jane, with a slight toss of her head. “Sarah did----”
“Sarah what?” said Fanny, with impatient curiosity.
Jane resumed her bathing, as if what Sarah did or said was not exactly the thing she liked to repeat.
“Sarah what?” asked Fanny, sharply. “Don’t speak in these half sentences, or I can’t understand you.”
“Well, miss, since you will have it--Sarah, you see, was in the best place for seeing, being at the right-hand window; and she says, and said at the very time too, that she saw Miss Hale with her arms about master’s neck, hugging him before all the people.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Fanny. “I know she cares for my brother; any one can see that; and I dare say, she’d give her eyes if he’d marry her,--which he never will, I can tell her. But I don’t believe she’d be so bold and forward as to put her arms round his neck.”
“Poor young lady! she’s paid for it dearly if she did. It’s my belief, that the blow has given her such an ascendancy of blood to the head as she’ll never get the better from. She looks like a corpse now.”
“Oh, I wish mamma would come!” said Fanny, wringing her hands. “I never was in the room with a dead person before.”
“Stay, miss! She’s not dead: her eye-lids are quivering, and here’s wet tears a-coming down her cheeks. Speak to her, Miss Fanny!”
“Are you better now?” asked Fanny, in a quavering voice.
No answer; no sign of recognition; but a faint pink colour returned to her lips, although the rest of her face was ashen pale.
Mrs. Thornton came hurriedly in, with the nearest surgeon she could find.
“How is she? Are you better, my dear?” as Margaret opened her filmy eyes, and gazed dreamily at her. “Here is Mr. Lowe come to see you.”
Mrs. Thornton spoke loudly and distinctly, as to a deaf person. Margaret tried to rise, and drew her ruffled, luxuriant hair instinctively over the cut.