--I can't remember--was he hurt?"

The shuddering came again, "His arm--all twisted--broken," and his voice
sank into a faint whisper; Ethel was obliged to sprinkle him again
with water. "But he won't die?" said she, in a tone calm from its
bewilderment.

"Oh! no, no, no--"

"And Margaret?"

"They were bringing her home. I'll go and see. Oh! what's the meaning of
this?" exclaimed he, scolding himself, as, sitting up, he was forced to
rest his head on his shaking hand.

"You are still faint, dear Norman; you had better lie still, and I'll go
and see."

"Faint--stuff--how horridly stupid!" but he was obliged to lay his head
down again; and Ethel, scarcely less trembling, crept carefully towards
the stairs, but a dread of what she might meet came over her, and she
turned towards the nursery.

The younger ones sat there in a frightened huddle. Mary was on a low
chair by the infant's cot, Blanche in her lap, Tom and Harry leaning
against her, and Aubrey almost asleep. Mary held up her finger as Ethel
entered, and whispered, "Hush! don't wake baby for anything!"

The first true pang of grief shot through Ethel like a dart, stabbing
and taking away her breath, "Where are they?" she said; "how is papa?
who is with him?"

"Mr. Ward and Alan Ernescliffe," said Harry. "Nurse came up just now,
and said they were setting his arm."

"Where is he?"

"On the bed in his dressing-room," said Harry.

"Has he come to himself--is he better?"

They did not seem to know, and Ethel asked where to find Flora. "With
Margaret," she was told, and she was thinking whether she could venture
to seek her, when she herself came fast up the stairs. Ethel and
Harry both darted out. "Don't stop me," said Flora--"they want some
handkerchiefs."

"What, is not she in her own room?"

"No," said Harry, "in mamma's;" and then his face quivered all over,
and he turned away. Ethel ran after her sister, and pulling out drawers
without knowing what she sought, begged to hear how papa and Margaret
were.

"We can't judge of Margaret--she has moved, and made a little
moaning--there are no limbs broken, but we are afraid for her head. Oh!
if papa could but--"

"And papa?"

"Mr. Ward is with him now--his arm is terribly hurt."

"But oh! Flora--one moment--is he sensible?"

"Hardly; he does not take any notice--but don't keep me."

"Can I do anything?" following her to the head of the stairs.

"No; I don't see what you can do. Miss Winter a