t a dropped voice and confidential manner
seemed to erect as a barrier to enlightenment, made her feel more at a
loss than ever how to act. Would it not, after all, be easiest to risk
the whole, and speak at once to the old lady herself? She prefigured in
her mind the greater ease of telling her story when she could make her
own love a palliative to the shock of the revelation, could take on her
bosom the old head, stunned and dumfoundered; could soothe the weakness
of the poor old hand with the strength and youth of her own. But into
that image came a disturbing whim--call it so!--a question from without,
not bred of her own mind:--"Is not this the daughter's right?--the
prerogative of the flesh and blood that stands before you?" Perhaps Gwen
_was_ whimsical sometimes.

If Widow Thrale had said one word to pave the way--had spoken, for
instance, of the unaccountableness of the old lady's memories--Gwen
might have seen daylight through the wood. But this placid immovable
ascription of the whole of them to brain-disorder was an Ituri forest of
preconceptions, shutting out every gleam of suggested truth.

A sudden idea occurred to her. Her father had spoken well of Dr.
Nash--of his abilities, at least--and he seemed very much in Mrs.
Thrale's good books. Could she not get _him_ to help, or at least to
take his measure as a confidant in her difficulty before condemning him
as impossible?

So quickly did all this pass through her mind that the words "I think I
should like to see Dr. Nash" seemed to follow naturally. Mrs. Thrale
welcomed the idea.

"But he'll be gone," said she. "He goes to see his patient at Dessington
Manor at eleven. And if he was sent for it is very like he could not
come, even for your ladyship. Because his sick folk he sees at the
surgery they will have their money's worth. Indeed, I think the poor
man's worked off his legs."

"I see," said Gwen. "I shall go and see him myself, at once." She
breathed freer for the respite, and the prospect of help. "But there's
plenty of time if I look sharp. Would you tell Tom outside that he's not
to run away. I shall want him? May I go through to see her? Is she
getting up?"

She was up, apparently, in the accepted sense of the word; though she
had collapsed with the effort of becoming so; and was now down, in the
literal sense, lying on the bed under contract not to move till Mrs.
Thrale returned with a cup of supplementary arrowroot. She had had a
very poo