He roused himself to find Lady Lucy bending over him. The pale dismay in her face excited and irritated him. He turned away from her. "Is Nixon come?" "Dearest, he has just arrived. Will you see him at once?" "Of course!" he said, angrily. "Why doesn't Richard do as he's told?" He raised himself into a sitting posture, while Lady Lucy went to the door. The local doctor entered--a stranger behind him. Lady Lucy left her son and the great surgeon together. * * * * * Nearly an hour later, Mr. Nixon, waylaid by Lady Lucy, was doing his best to compromise, as doctors must, between consideration for the mother and truth as to the Son. There was, he hoped, no irreparable injury. But the case would be long, painful, trying to everybody concerned. Owing to the mysterious nerve-sympathies of the body, the sight was already affected and would be more so. Complete rest, certain mechanical applications, certain drugs--he ran through his recommendations. "Avoid morphia, I implore you," he said, earnestly, "if you possibly can. Here a man's friends can be of great help to him. Cheer him and distract him in every way you can. I think we shall be able to keep the pain within bounds." Lady Lucy looked piteously at the speaker. "And how long?" she said, trembling. Mr. Nixon hesitated. "I am afraid I can hardly answer that. The blow was a most unfortunate one. It might have done a worse injury. Your son might be now a paralyzed invalid for life. But the case is very serious, nor is it possible yet to say what all the consequences of the injury may be. But keep your own courage up--and his. The better his general state, the more chance he has." A few minutes more, and the brougham had carried him away. Lady Lucy, looking after it from the window of her sitting-room, knew that for her at last what she had been accustomed to describe every Sunday as "the sorrows of this transitory life" had begun. Till now they had been as veiled shapes in a misty distance. She had accepted them with religious submission, as applying to others. Her mind, resentful and astonished, must now admit them--pale messengers of powers unseen and pitiless!--to its own daily experience; must look unprotected, unscreened, into their stern faces. "John!--John!" cried the inner voice of agonized regret. And then: "My boy!--my boy!" * * * * * "What did he say?" asked Alicia's voice, beside her. The sound--the arm thrown round her--were not very welcome to Lady Lucy. Her nature, imperious and jealously independent, under all her sweetness of manner, set itself against pity, especially from her juniors. She composed herself at once. "He does not give a good account," she said, withdrawing herself gently but decidedly. "It may take a long time before Oliver is quite himself again."