"Arabella Forsythe," said Mrs. Dale,--"well, as I told brother, I think this is her opportunity. She really is in a bad way, Giff. Lois wasn't hurt at all, wonderful to say; but, naturally, she's in great distress, because she blames herself for the whole thing." "How so?" asked Gifford. "Well, of course," Mrs. Dale answered, rubbing her little red nose with her handkerchief, and with a suspicious mist in her eyes,--"of course it really was her fault, only we mustn't let her know we think so. You see, she was driving. (I've always said women don't know how to drive; they're too inconsequent.) She wasn't paying attention to her horse, and let a rein slip. Before she could pick it up, the horse shied at a newspaper blowing along the road. Well, you know the rest. But Lois does not know that we think it was her carelessness." Gifford hesitated a moment, and then said slowly, "But wouldn't it be better to help her face the truth of it now? There is no use to try to escape self-reproaches that have their root in facts." "Nonsense!" responded Mrs. Dale sharply. "I thought you had more sympathy!" Gifford had told his aunts of the accident, when he brought them the offering of the two small fishes, and the ladies were full of distress and anxiety, and the flutter of excited interest which would be sure to be felt in a place like Ashurst. They had gone at once to the rectory, to see if they could be of use, though, as Miss Deborah said to her sister, "with Adele Dale there, of course there is nothing more to be desired." Nevertheless, the next morning, Miss Ruth ran over with a bowl of wine jelly from Miss Deborah, and brought back word that Mrs. Forsythe was "still breathing;" and that the gravest apprehensions were felt for Mr. Denner. Miss Deborah was waiting in the parlor to hear the news; so important an occasion seemed to demand the dignity of the parlor, and in a high-backed armchair, with her feet on a cricket and a fresh handkerchief in her hand, she listened to Miss Ruth's agitated and tearful story. "I will make some whips for William Denner," she said promptly, as Miss Ruth finished, "and we will take them to him this afternoon." "Well, but, sister," said Miss Ruth, hesitating, "do you think--we'd better? Ought not we to let Giff take them?" "Why?" asked Miss Deborah. "He is able to see us, isn't he?" "It is not quite that," answered the younger sister nervously, taking off her bonnet, and beginning to roll the strings tight and smooth between her fingers, "but--he is in--his chamber, sister. Would it be quite--proper?" "I think," said Miss Deborah, holding her head very straight, "we are old enough to"-- "You may be," returned Miss Ruth firmly, "but I am not." Miss Deborah was silent for a moment; then she said, "Well, perhaps you are right, dear Ruth; though he is certainly very ill, and didn't you say he was in the library?"