“She’ll sit up with him tonight, miss. Doctor says he won’t want anything for a while yet, so I don’t doubt we can manage well enough till dinner-time. Will I bring her up, so as she can see how the gentleman is?”

Amanda gave ready permission. In emergency, she could act not only with courage, but with an inborn sense of what was needed; but confronted with a sick-bed she was conscious of ignorance. It was with a thankful countenance that she rose to greet a woman of experience of sick-nursing.

She suffered a severe revulsion of feeling. The lady who presently wheezed her way up the stairs, and entered the room with no light tread, was not one whose appearance invited confidence. She was extremely stout, and although she seemed from her ingratiating smile to be good-humoured Amanda thought her countenance very unprepossessing. She liked neither the expression of her curiously hazy eyes, nor their inability to remain fixed for more than a moment on any one object. The cap which she wore under a large bonnet was by no means clean, and there emanated from her person an unpleasant aroma of which the predominant elements were onions, stale sweat, and spirituous liquor. The floor shook under her heavy tread, and when she bent over Sir Gareth, she said: “Ah, poor dear!” in an unctuous voice which filled Amanda with loathing. She then laid her hand on his brow, and said: “Well, he ain’t feverish, which is one good thing, but he looks mortal bad.” After that, she adjusted his pillows with hearty good-will, and ruthlessly straightened the blankets that covered him. He was too heavily drugged to wake, but Amanda could bear no longer to see Mrs. Bardfield’s rough and not over-clean hands touching him, and she said sharply: “Don’t! Leave him alone!”

Mrs. Bardfield was accustomed to the nervous qualms of sick persons’ relatives, and she smiled indulgently, saying: “Lor’ bless you, dearie, you don’t want to worrit your head now I’m here! Many’s the gentleman I’ve nursed, ay, and laid out too! Now, I’ll stay beside him for a while, because Mr. Chicklade’s got a nice bit of cold meat and pickles laid out for a nuncheon for you and the young gentleman, and a pot of tea besides. That’ll do you good, and you’ll know your poor uncle’s in safe hands.”

Amanda managed to thank her, though in a choked voice, and fled down the stairs to find Hildebrand. He was awaiting her in the small parlour, and when he saw her face he started forward, exclaiming in horror: “Good God, what is it? Oh, is he worse?’

“No, no! I wouldn’t have left him if he hadn’t been better! It is that detestable old woman! Hildebrand, she shan’t touch him! I won’t permit it! She is dirty, and rough, and she says she lays people out!”

“Yes, I know—I saw her, and I must own—But what are we to do, if you turn her off? You cannot nurse Sir Gareth, and Mrs. Chicklade seems very unamiable, so that I shouldn’t think—”

“Oh, no! I know just what I ought to do, only I cannot! I don’t even know her name! His sister, I mean. So I have made up my mind that Lady Hester must come, and I think she would be willing to, because she is very kind, and she said she would like to help me if she could. And besides that, Mr. Theale told me that Sir Gareth was going to offer for her, and although I don’t know if it was true, perhaps it was, and she would wish me to send for her! So—”

“Going to offer for her?” broke in Hildebrand. “But you said he was determined to marry you!”

“Yes, I know I did, but it wasn’t true! I can’t think how you came to imagine it was, for of all the absurd things—! I suppose I shall have to explain it all to you, but first I must know if that stupid post-boy is still here.”

“I think he’s in the tap, but I’ve paid him off. I—I thought that would be the right thing to do.”

“Oh, yes, but I find we shall need him, and the chaise! Hildebrand, I do hope to goodness he doesn’t still wish to inform against you?”

“No,” he replied, flushing. “I—I told Dr. Chantry, and he made all right. And I must tell you, Amanda, that even if Sir Gareth hasn’t behaved well towards you, he has behaved towards me with a generosity I can never repay. When the doctor told me what he said when he came to himself—” He broke off, his lip quivering.

“Yes, he is the kindest creature!” she agreed. “And though he made me very angry—and I still cannot feel that he had any business to interfere, and ruin my plan!—he didn’t do any of the things I said he did. Never mind that now! You must go and tell the post-boy that you will be requiring him to drive you to Brancaster Park, to bring back Lady Hester. I am not perfectly sure how many miles it is to Chatteris, but I shouldn’t think we can be very far from it.”

“Chatteris?’ he interrupted. “It must be five-and-twenty miles away, and very likely morel”

“Well, and if it is, surely you don’t mean to say you won’t go?” she demanded. “Of all the paltry things!”

“Of course I don’t!” he retorted, glaring at her. “But I am not going to hire a chaise for a drive of fifty miles and more! Besides, the post-boy Sir Gareth hired wouldn’t agree to it, because he was hired to go to Bedford, and nowhere else. And even if he did consent, I wouldn’t have him!”

“But—”

“I’ll tell you what it is, Amanda!” said Mr. Ross, in a most unadmiring tone. “You fancy no one can think of anything but yourself!”

“Well, no one has!” she said, firing up. “And certainly not you, for you only—”

“Who thought of riding on ahead to prepare the Chicklades?”

“Oh, that!” said Amanda, hunching up one shoulder.

“Yes, that!” he said furiously. “And, what’s more, it was I who thought of holding up the chaise, not you!”

“Well, if you mean to boast of that, I suppose you will say next that you thought of shooting Sir Gareth!” cried Amanda.

Battle was now fairly joined, and for the next few minutes two overwrought young persons found relief for their shocked nerves in a right royal quarrel. Sir Gareth on his sick-bed, and the nuncheon on the table were alike forgotten in a wholesale exchange of recriminations. Chicklade, coming into the parlour with a dish of fruit, stopped on the threshold, and for several moments listened, unperceived, to a quarrel which was rapidly sinking to nursery-level. Indeed, when he presently rejoined his wife, he told her, with a chuckle, that there could be no doubt that the young lady and gentleman were related: to hear them, you’d have thought them brother and sister.

As soon as they became aware of his presence, their quarrel ceased abruptly. In cold and haughty silence, they took their places at the table. Neither had any appetite, but each drank a cup of tea, and felt better. Amanda stole a surreptitious look at Hildebrand, found that he was stealing one at her, and giggled. This broke the ice; they both fell into laughter; after which Hildebrand begged pardon, if he had been uncivil; and Amanda said that she hadn’t really meant to say that she was sure he couldn’t write a play.

Friendly relations were thus re-established, but Hildebrand’s brief period of enchantment was over. It had not, in fact, survived the impatience she had shown when he had recovered from his swoon. She was still a very pretty girl, though not (when one studied her dispassionately) as beautiful as he had at first thought her; and she certainly had a great deal of spirit, but he preferred girls with gentler manners. He was inclined to think that, in addition to being much too masterful, she was unbecomingly bold. By the time she had confided to him, under the seal of secrecy, the exact circumstances which had led up to her encounter with Sir Gareth, he was sure of this. His shocked face, and unhesitating condemnation of her plan of campaign, very nearly resulted in the resumption of hostilities. To disapproval of her outrageous scheme was added indignation that she should have enlisted his support by painting Sir Gareth in false colours. He exclaimed that it was the shabbiest thing; and as she secretly agreed with him her defence lacked conviction.

“But it is true that he abducted me,” she argued.

“I consider that his behaviour has throughout been chivalrous and gentlemanly,” replied Hildebrand.

“I thought you looked to be stuffy as soon as I saw you,” said Amanda. “That is why I didn’t tell you how it really was. And I was quite right.”

“It is not a question of being stuffy,” said Hildebrand loftily, “but of having worldly sense, and proper notions of conduct. And now that I know the truth I can’t suppose that this Lady Hester would dream of coming here. How very much shocked she must have been!”

“Well, she was not!” said Amanda. “She was most truly sympathetic, so you know nothing of the matter! And also she told me that she has had a very dull life, besides being obliged to live with the most disagreeable set of people I ever saw, so I daresay she will be very glad to come here.” She paused, eyeing him. He still looked dubious, so she said in another, and much more earnest voice: “Pray Hildebrand, go and fetch her! That dreadful old woman upstairs will very likely kill poor Sir Gareth, because she is rough, and dirty, and I can see she means to lay him out! I won’t permit her to nurse him! I will nurse him myself, only—only that doctor said that he might grow feverish, and if, perhaps, I didn’t do the things I should for him, and he didn’t get better, but worse,and there was only you and me to take care of him—Hildebrand, I can’t!”

She ended on a note of suppressed panic, but Hildebrand was already convinced. The picture her words had conjured up made him blench. In his relief at finding that he had not killed Sir Gareth outright, optimism, which he now saw to have been unjustified, had sprung up in his breast. The thought that Sir Gareth might still die, here, in this tiny inn, far from his own kith and kin, attended only by a schoolroom miss and his murderer, made him shudder. Before his mind’s eye flitted a horrifying vision of himself seeking out Sir Gareth’s sister, and breaking to her the news that her brother was dead, and by his hand. He set his teacup down with a jar, exclaiming: “Good God, no! I hadn’t considered—Of course I will go to Chatteris! I never meant that I would not—and even if this Lady Hester should refuse to come back with me she will be at least able to tell me where I may find Sir Gareth’s sister!”

“She will come!” Amanda averred. “So will you go at once to tell the post-boy he must drive you to Brancaster Park?”

“No,” replied Hildebrand, setting his jaw. “I’ll have nothing to do with the fellow! Besides, what a shocking waste of money it would be to be hiring a chaise to carry me to Brancaster Park, when I shall reach it very much more quickly if I ride there—or, at any rate, to Huntingdon, where I may hire a chaise for Lady Hester’s conveyance—that is, if you think she won’t prefer to travel in her own carriage?”

Amanda, thankful to find him suddenly so amenable, said approvingly: “That is an excellent notion, and much better than mine! I see you have learnt habits of economy, which is something I must do too, for an expensive wife would not suit Neil at all, I daresay. But I have a strong feeling that that odious Lady Widmore would cast a rub in the way of Lady Hester’s coming to my aid, if she could, and she would be bound to discover what she meant to do, if Lady Hester ordered her carriage. In fact, the more I think of it, the more I am persuaded that Lady Hester must slip away secretly. So, when you reach Brancaster Park, you must insist on seeing her alone,and on no account must you disclose your errand to anyone else.”

Hildebrand was in full agreement with her on this point, having the greatest reluctance to spread further than was strictly necessary the story of the day’s dreadful events, but an unwelcome consideration had occurred to him, and he said uneasily: “Will it not make Mrs. Chicklade even more unamiable, if we bring Lady Hester here to stay? You know, I don’t like to mention it to you, but she has been saying such things! I don’t think Chicklade will attend to her, because he seems to be a good sort of a fellow, but she wants him to tell Dr. Chantry he won’t have Sir Gareth here, or any of us, because nothing will persuade her we are respectable persons—which, when one comes to think of it, we are not,” he added gloomily. “Depend upon it, she doesn’t believe the hum you told her, about Sir Gareth’s being our uncle.”

“We must remember always to say ‘my uncle’ when we have occasion to mention him,” nodded Amanda. “In fact, we had better call him Uncle Gareth even between ourselves, so that we get into the habit of it.”