Her face worked pitifully. She turned to Elizabeth, who
caught her in her arms.
'Oh, I am glad you have put the picture away!'
One deep sob, and she recovered herself.
'He's not much disfigured,' she murmured, 'only a cut on the
forehead. Most of the journey he has been quite cheerful. That was
the morphia. But he's tired now. They're coming in.'
But it was the Squire who entered--asking peremptorily for Miss
Bremerton.
The well-known voice struck some profound response in Elizabeth. She
turned to him. How changed, how haggard, was the aspect!
'Martin--that's the surgeon we've brought with us--wants something
from Fallerton at once. Renshaw's here, but he can't be spared for
telephoning. Come, please!'
But before she could pass through the door, it was filled by a
procession. The stretcher came through, followed by the surgeon and
nurses who had come from France. Elizabeth caught a glimpse of a
white face and closed eyes. It was as though something royal and
sacred entered the hushed room.
Pages:
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423