There, there was nothing but excitement and commotion. One neighbour had gone already for Dr. Somers; another was carrying water to bring the sufferer to herself. One woman shook her head and said--“I saw her face, and it’s the face of death; she’ll never come round.” “Hold your tongue,” said another; “she’s as like life as you or me; she’ll come round fast enough if you’ll hold your noise and look after the children.” “Little the children’s din will hurt her,” said a third. Was Jeanie killed? All in a moment, the harmless, gentle little creature, had she been dashed into the unknown world? As this thought went through Edgar’s mind, he heard a little stir among the gossips--a silence, and rustle of all their dresses as they stood back instinctively. “It is her grandmother,” they said; and immediately after Mrs. Murray, very pale and steadfast, suddenly passed through the crowd. How Edgar’s heart yearned over the old woman whom he knew so little of--who was nothing to him! Admiration, pity, something more deep than either, swept over him. This poor woman who had done so much, who had taken upon her so many burdens, was this the reward God was about to give for all her toils and trials?--her child snatched from her in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye. The other was safe, who, herself and all belonging to her, had thought of nothing but their own pleasure and profit, all their lives. And it was this woman who had suffered and toiled, and spent her life for others, who was to open her breast again and receive the cruellest blow. Strange compensation, reward, and encouragement! Edgar attempted to enter two or three times, but was kept back by the crowd. “Lord bless you, sir, you can’t do no good,” they said to him. “There’s one gentleman there already, and better they’d be without him.” Somehow it was a kind of comfort to think that Arthur Arden was in the way, and of no use. It made even Edgar more patient as he stood without, waiting for his dogcart, and brooding over those strange imperfections of life. One taken, and the other left. But why Jeanie--why the old mother’s one comfort and consolation? When the dogcart arrived he sent it off in search of the doctor. He forgot all about Clare and her anxiety, and thought of nothing but the dead or dying girl. After a while Arthur Arden came out, very pale, with a tremor and suppressed agitation that was pitiful to see. His mind was not even sufficiently disengaged to be surprised at this sudden appearance of his cousin. He put out his hand to Edgar unconsciously, with a certain appeal to his sympathy. “It was my fault,” he said hoarsely. And thus the two stood, almost clinging together till the dogcart rattled past over the bit of causeway, bringing the doctor. Arthur put his arm within Edgar’s in the excitement of the moment. “If she dies,” he repeated hoarsely, with large drops standing on his forehead, “it will be my fault.” CHAPTER XXVIII.