ourt
having arrived, they take him home in it as carefully as can be managed.

* * * * *

In a few hours the worst is known; and, after all, the worst is not so
very bad. His arm is broken and two of his ribs, and there is rather a
severe contusion on his left shoulder. Little Dr. Bland has pledged them
his word in the most solemn manner, however, that there is no internal
injury, and that his patient only requires time and care to be quite
himself again in _no time_. This peculiar date is a favorite one with
the little medico.

The household being reassured by this comfortable news, every one grows
more tranquil, and dinner having proved a distinct failure, supper is
proposed; and Roger having hunted the whole house unsuccessfully for
Dulce, to compel her to come in and eat something, unearths her at last
in the nursery, where she is sitting all alone, staring at the sleeping
children.

"Where's nurse?" asks Roger, gazing around. "Has she been dismissed, and
have you applied for the situation?"

"She has gone down for a message. I came here," says Dulce, "because I
didn't want to speak to anybody. I feel so strange still, and so
frightened."

"Come down and eat something," says Roger. "You _must_. I shall carry
you if you won't walk, and think how the servants will speak about your
light behavior afterwards! _Do_ come, darling; you know you have eaten
nothing since breakfast."

"I wonder if he is really in no danger?" says Dulce wistfully.

"He certainly is not. I have it from Bland himself; and, Dulce," and
here he hesitates, as if uncertain whether he ought to proceed or not,
"now it is all right, you know, and--and that--and when we have heard
he is on the safe road to recovery, it can't be any harm to say what is
on my mind, can it?"

"No; I suppose not," says Dulce, blushing vividly.

"Well, then, just say you will marry me the very moment he is on his
feet again," says Roger, getting this out with considerable rapidity.
"It will seem ungracious of us, I think, not to take advantage of his
kindness as soon as possible."

"Supposing he was _to go back of it all_ when he got well," says Dulce,
timidly.

"Oh, he _can't_; a promise is a promise, you know--as he has made us
feel. Poor old Stephen!" this last hastily, lest he shall seem hard on
his newly-recovered friend.

"If you think that," says Dulce, going close up to him and looking at
him with soft love-lit eyes, "