When the household was once more sunk in sleep, Hannah bethought her of her husband, of whom she had heard nothing since the previous night. What was he doing? Whom had he spoken to? What had he had to eat? She felt she must ascertain these points before she went to rest herself, for the doctor had told her, since the boy was out of immediate danger, it must be days, perhaps weeks, before he could finally pronounce on the ultimate effects of the accident, and therefore it behoved her not to try her strength more than was absolutely needful. With the purpose of seeing her husband, she tried the door between them, but found it was still locked on his side, therefore she went round to that which opened into the passage, which he had left unfastened, and went softly in. The sight which met her eyes was a pitiable one. Henry Hindes was on his knees beside the bed, moaning in the agony of his spirit. Yet, such is the force of a mother’s love, that the expression of his pain did not move her as it had done that evening in the library. For since then had he not injured _her_ child, which had awakened a twofold repulsion in her breast against him; one for herself and the other for Mrs Crampton. Hannah had never realised till now what _her_ agony of loss had been. As she approached him, Hindes lifted his bloodshot eyes and muttered,-- ‘Say it at once, for God’s sake! Is he gone?’ ‘Wally? No!’ ‘Thank Heaven!’ ‘Don’t be too quick to do that, Henry. He is in pain. There is no knowing what injuries he may not have sustained. Dr Sewell will give no opinion. He says time only can show; pray that God may have mercy upon us, and not visit your sins on the head of your unoffending child.’ Hindes groaned. ‘What would the worst be--the worst that could happen to him?’ ‘Spinal disease. A cripple for life, or a lingering death,’ replied Hannah, sternly. She could not find it in her heart to lighten the blow to the author of it. ‘A cripple for life--a lingering death--my Wally, my darling Wally!’ sobbed the father. ‘Oh, Hannah, my punishment is heavier than I can bear.’ ‘You will _have to_ bear it, if God wills; so shall I--as the Cramptons had to bear--’ ‘No, no, Hannah, for Heaven’s sake, no!’ screamed Henry Hindes, as he cowered beside the bedclothes. ‘I have seen his face--Mr Crampton’s face--before me ever since, saying, “_Now_ you will know! _Now_ you will know!” I drugged myself with morphia last night, but it was no good. He was there all the time--all the time.’