It did not occur to Dr. Layard that his carriage was a new one, handsomely lined and fitted up; but the servant’s soul ran more upon such subjects, and he began to protest against lifting the wounded and bleeding woman into it. Such a very miserable old creature, too, thought Bob, not a bit of a lady. ‘Dolt! idiot! brute!’ ejaculated Dr. Layard, in high wrath; and Bob, who had only uttered half his protest, shut his mouth, and was silent. It seemed a very long time to Kate, though the carriage bowled rapidly along the smooth, straight old Roman road. Poor Mrs. Duffy gave no sign of life, but lay against her heavily, with her grey head resting upon Kate’s shoulder. She held her as tenderly as she could, now and then clasping her warm fingers about her wrist, which was knotted and brown with age and hard work, but which gave no throb back to Kate’s touch. Dr. Layard, who rode outside with Bob, looked round from time to time, nodding to her, but with so grave a face that she felt the case was very serious. She thanked God fervently when the spires of Lentford came in sight, and the last notes of the morning chimes fell upon her ear. There were streams of people going to church, exchanging cheery salutations with one another; but many a person caught a glimpse of Kate’s pale and agitated face, and the grey head lying against her neck, and felt a shadow pass over their own Christmas gladness. Dr. Layard’s carriage drove into the courtyard of the hospital, and then Kate was quickly relieved of her burden. Mrs. Duffy was carried away, and Dr. Layard followed her. Kate sat there, anxious and troubled, while the clock in the nearest church tower struck one quarter after another, and Bob drove up and down at a snail’s pace in dreary and monotonous turns. At length some one beckoned to him from the hospital portico, and Bob responded with an alacrity which betrayed his impatience. Kate only saw at the last moment that it was Dr. Carey, not her father, who had summoned him; and she shrank back, breathless and tremulous, into the corner of the carriage which concealed her best from him. ‘Bob, your master says you must drive home,’ said Dr. Carey; ‘he will return by train in the afternoon.’ ‘And the old woman, sir?’ said Bob, ‘how’s she going on?’ ‘Very little hope,’ answered Philip Carey, whose face Kate could not see, but whose voice made every nerve thrill. ‘Is it murder?’ asked Bob, who had known Dr. Carey as his master’s assistant, and stood on very little ceremony with him. ‘I’m afraid so,’ he said; ‘how are they all at home, Bob? Miss Brooks and Miss Kate?’