“And admirably she managed,” said Alan Ernescliffe. “I was much afraid of some answer that would rouse him, but she kept her self-possession beautifully, and seemed to compose him in a moment.”
“She is valuable indeed--so much judgment and activity,” said Mr. Ward. “I don’t know what we should have done without her. But we ought to have Mr. Richard--has no one sent to him?”
Alan Ernescliffe and Norman looked at each other.
“Is he at Oxford, or at his tutor’s?” asked Mr. Wilmot.
“At Oxford; he was to be there to-day, was he not, Norman?”
“What o’clock is it? Is the post gone--seven--no; it is all safe,” said Mr. Ward.
Poor Norman! he knew he was the one who ought to write, but his icy trembling hand seemed to shake more helplessly than ever, and a piteous glance fell upon Mr. Wilmot.
“The best plan would be,” said Mr. Wilmot, “for me to go to him at once and bring him home. If I go by the mail-train, I shall get to him sooner than a letter could.”
“And it will be better for him,” said Mr. Ward. “He will feel it dreadfully, poor boy. But we shall all do better when we have him. You can get back to-morrow evening.”
“Sunday,” said Mr. Wilmot, “I believe there is a train at four.”
“Since that is settled, perhaps I had better go up to the doctor,” said Alan; “I don’t like leaving Flora alone with him,” and he was gone.
“How fortunate that that youth is here,” said Mr. Wilmot--“he seems to be quite taking Richard’s place.”
“And to feel it as much,” said Mr. Ward. “He has been invaluable with his sailor’s resources and handiness.”
“Well, what shall I tell poor Richard?” asked Mr. Wilmot.
“Tell him there is no reason his father should not do very well, if we can keep him from agitation--but there’s the point. He is of so excitable a constitution, that his faculties being so far confused is the best thing, perhaps, that could be. Mr. Ernescliffe manages him very well--used to illness on that African coast, and the doctor is very fond of him. As to Miss May, one can’t tell what to say about her yet--there’s no fracture, at least--it must be a work of time to judge.”
Flora at that moment half-opened the door, and called Mr. Ward, stopping for a moment to say it was for nothing of any consequence. Mr. Wilmot and Norman were left together. Norman put his hands over his face and groaned--his master looked at him with kind anxiety, but did not feel as if it were yet time to speak of consolation.
