"I hate chess," she said, "and cannot think what pleasure there can be in poring over such a dull game. I would a thousand times rather play the children's Race game; there is something exciting in that, but poor Miss Neville is too ill to play now." "Ill!" exclaimed Mrs. Linchmore. "Miss Neville ill?" while one of the chess-men slipped from Robert Vavasour's fingers, and rolled over on to the soft hearth rug, instead of into the box as he had intended. "Yes, she has sprained her wrist," continued Anne, giving the chess-man a gentle kick with her foot as it lay close beside her. "Is that all? I thought at least it was the small pox, or scarlet fever," said Mrs. Linchmore. "Although it is neither one nor the other," said Anne, "still it is very bad, and ought to be seen to." "Do you speak from your own personal observation?" "Yes. I have been sitting with her for some time, and certainly think she looks ill and feverish; her hand is swollen an awful size. I should be quite frightened if it were mine, and told her so. I dare say old Dr. Bernard though would soon put it all right." "He shall be sent for to-morrow," replied Mrs. Linchmore, "should she be no better, but perhaps a night's rest, and a little of Mrs. Hopkin's doctoring, may make her quite well again. Do you know how she sprained it?" "I never asked her," replied Anne, evading a direct reply, "all I know is, it is very bad." "If no better to-morrow, I will send for Dr. Bernard in the afternoon," said Mrs. Linchmore, quietly. "To-morrow afternoon," repeated Mr. Vavasour quite as quietly, and before Anne had time to shape any answer in reply, "But perhaps Miss Neville is in a great deal of pain; a sprain is an ugly thing sometimes, and at all times painful." "It is quite impossible to send to-night," replied Mrs. Linchmore, decidedly. "Mr. Linchmore will not return from Standale himself much before ten, and I never send any of the servants so far without his sanction. It strikes me there is a little unnecessary haste and compassion displayed for my governess." Robert Vavasour was silenced; but not so Anne, she came to the rescue at once, rather nettled. "I am sure, Isabella, I don't care a bit about it; only I thought as Charles was going into Standale,--I suppose to ride home with your husband at night,--he might as well call on Dr. Bernard as not; or leave a message to say he was wanted." As there was no good reason why he should not, Mrs. Linchmore was obliged to acquiesce, though apparently,--and she did not care to conceal it--with a very bad grace, and without the slightest solicitude expressed for her governess. "I have managed it for you," said Anne, going out into the hall, where she found Charles striding up and down, impatiently; "such a fight as I have had." "Never mind about the fight, Anne. Am I to call on Dr. Bernard?" "Yes." The word was scarcely spoken, ere to Anne's astonishment, he had caught her in his arms, and kissed her.