pressure. "One moment, Ermie.
No, Collins, we have not heard of any accident. I sincerely trust your
daughter has come to no harm."

"Well, miss, for the matter of that, Susy's life ain't in danger, but
she has broke her leg; a bad fracture, too, midway between the knee
and the ankle. Poor child, she's for all like a boy in some of her
ways, and she was climbing a tree to get a glimpse of me, she said,
the rogue; and a rotten bough broke under her, and she came down right
on her leg. The poor thing was insensible when I took her up, miss,
but she's better now, of course, and the leg was set by Doctor Reeves
last night."

"Oh, do let me go to her," said Ermengarde; "what does a stupid picnic
matter? Basil, won't you speak up for me. _Do_ get Miss Nelson to let
me go at once."

"Poor Susy, she's feverish a bit," said Collins, favoring Ermengarde
with a quick grateful glance, "and she has been crying out all the
morning and half the night for missie. It was that made the wife think
of me standing here to watch, in case Miss Ermengarde might spare a
minute or two from the day's pleasure to give to the poor child."

"I am sorry for you, Collins," said Miss Nelson; "and the story of the
accident certainly alters matters a good deal. I do not think Mr.
Wilton will object to Ermengarde's going to Susan for a moment."

"Thank you," said Ermie, with a great breath of relief.

"My dear child, you need not tremble so. Steady, you will fall on your
face. Basil, help your sister out of the carriage. We will give you
five minutes, Ermengarde. Collins, be sure you send for anything
necessary for Susan to the Chase."

Collins touched his hat and withdrew. Ermengarde had already flown
down a little path which led directly to the keeper's little cottage.

"Poor child, I did not know she was so sensitive," said Miss Nelson to
Basil. He was standing by the side of the carriage, and she thought he
had not heard her remark, for he turned his head away.

Meanwhile Ermengarde, having reached the cottage, was promptly taken
upstairs to Susy's little attic-room by her mother.

The poor little girl had gone through a night of dreadful suffering,
and at another time her flushed face and feverishly bright blue eyes
would have excited Ermengarde's pity, and she would have been as
gentle and sympathetic in her manner as heart could wish. The
influence of fear, however, and the consciousness of wrong-doing, have
a wonderfully hardening eff