Then he told me that the Earl was a relation to Lady Arthur—uncle, I think—and that Mr. Arthur was come to stop for a night or two at the big house. And then I told him he had better take word the room was ready. In a few minutes I saw them coming; the poor thing laid on a shutter, which father and Rupert and one of the porters and her brother were carrying. They moved slowly, and mother came on first. "Room all straight, Kitty?" says she. "Yes, mother," I said. "What is the matter with her?" "It's what they call 'haemorrhage,'" mother said. "Bleeding from inside, you know; and very bad. She had it once before, and the shock brought it on again." "And nobody else hurt?" I said. "She and her brother was in the front carriage, close to the engine," mother said. "And she was going backwards: so I suppose she came in for more of a jar." "Is the bleeding over now, mother?" "If it don't come on again! That's the fear! The doctor's afraid of the least movement. That's why I offered to have her in here." Then I saw Mr. Baitson following with Mr. Armstrong; but I did not look at them much, for my eyes were soon chained to Miss Russell's face. I had never seen any one like her before. It wasn't that she was pretty. I shouldn't wonder if she never had been exactly pretty; and she was past girlhood then, with a few grey hairs showing. But there was a wonderful quiet in the face, like the quiet of the sea on a still day; and when she opened her eyes they were full of gentle goodness. "Hush, not a word!" Mr. Baitson said, when she wanted to speak. She smiled and gave in directly; but her eyes wandered round till they fell on her brother. He looked sorely troubled, and I think his sister noticed this, for she kept watching him as long as he was within sight. When they had laid her on the bed, only Mr. Baitson stayed, beside mother and me. He said she was to have her clothes slipped off her with the least possible movement, and he would call again by-and-by. Then I saw Miss Russell sign to him to go close, and she whispered, "Walter!" "You want to see your brother? Well, just for a moment. But I can't have talking, you know," said Mr. Baitson. The brother didn't so much as give a glance towards mother or me when he was called in. He went straight to the bed and bent down, and I heard a sort of choke, as if he was almost crying, and then a sound like a word which I couldn't make out. "Forgive you, yes!" she said tenderly, and her hand went over his hair. "My own boy!" "Hush! this won't do!" Mr. Baitson said almost sternly. She gave him a look as much as to say, "I forgot!" and Mr. Baitson hurried the young man off.