Her first inquiry was for Lady Linton, who, she found, had been carried to a neighboring cottage and was reported as very seriously injured. She made her way thither, and was told that, although there were no bones broken, it was feared the lady had suffered some internal injury which might prove fatal. She had been unconscious most of the day, but now she was lying in a heavy sleep that almost amounted to stupor. Virgie asked the weary woman who told her this, if she could be of any assistance, and she replied that if she could come in and sit awhile with the sick lady it would give her a chance to get her husband’s supper and put her house in order; she had neglected everything to attend to the sufferer. Virgie willingly complied, and passing quietly into the sick-room, she sat down by the bed and looked upon her husband’s sister, her heart filled with the strangest emotions. She saw that she slightly resembled Sir William, although she was a good many years older and not nearly so attractive. This, however, might be owing somewhat to her injuries, for there were several bruises about her head and face; she looked haggard and worn; her hair was in disorder and thin and quite gray; one hand had been badly cut and lay bandaged upon a pillow beside her, and truly she was a pitiable object in her present condition. For long years Virgie had entertained hard and bitter feelings toward this woman. She did not, of course, know the extent of the wrong of which she had been guilty, but she had never forgotten Lady Linton’s arrogance, nor the scorn which she had expressed regarding her to Mrs. Farnum; still, as she now lay there before her, so helpless and miserable, she could feel only compassion and regret for her. Something of the divine nature always animates the heart and begets a certain tenderness for those whom we benefit, particularly if some signal sacrifice has been made to secure it. She sat there beside the unconscious woman for an hour or more, changing the wet cloths on her bruised head and gently fanning her, for the room was far from airy or comfortable, although it was the best in the house. Then the physician came in, and Virgie questioned him regarding Lady Linton’s condition. He could not tell just yet how serious her injuries were, he told her. They might not prove to be anything alarming, but her nervous system had undoubtedly suffered a severe shock which might prove to be worse than any hurt. “Do you know her?” he asked, in conclusion, while his keen eyes searched Virgie’s beautiful face curiously. He had heard something of the heroism which she had shown that morning in saving the woman’s life. “I know who she is,” she replied. “Her name is Lady Linton.” “Hum! English, then,” interrupted the doctor, with a quick glance at the figure on the bed. “Any friends in this country?” “She mentioned that she was on her way to Chicago to meet her son and daughter, and some other friends, but I do not know their address.”