CHAPTER III.

HOW IT HAPPENED.

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IT was Guy's voice, and he was crying aloud, either in fear or in pain,— "Aymer, Aymer! Oh, where are you?"

"Why, what has happened to him?" exclaimed Helen. "He's down there, I think, by the sound." And she pointed along the bank in the direction opposite to that which they had followed in their walk.

Aymer shouted, "Here, Guy, at the boat!"

And they all set out to meet him.

"There he is! But he is alone. Where is Clarice?" said Lizzie, as the figure of the little boy came in sight. He was running us fast as ever he could along the shingly shore; his dress was all disordered, his hat gone, his black curls wet and matted on his forehead, and his face wild with fright and haste. He was so spent, poor child, with running and shouting, that he could not stop himself, but fell into Lizzie's arms.

"Oh, Aymer," he panted out, "Clarice is hurt! A big stone fell on her. I couldn't move it—and she's hurt, Aymer, and I had to leave her to find you. Oh, it was so horrid to leave her."

"Where is she?" said Aymer. "Come, Guy, you must show me the way. You come after us, girls."

Guy was nearly fainting from pure weariness and terror, yet he roused himself and took his brother's outstretched hand.

"Run, Aymer; never mind me; if I fall, you can pull me along."

But the running was soon over, for they came to a little creek, or bay, where a tiny rivulet emptied itself into the Slaney, and Guy said, "We climbed up here. It is quite near now."

Aymer lifted the child and pushed him up as high as he could, scrambling after him. The rooks were not difficult to climb, and the little waterfall guided them. They were soon at the top, and Guy pointed down into the bed of the stream, which had hollowed out as deep a channel for its insignificant waters as though it had been a much larger affair than it was. Down there, partly in the water, lay Clarice. From the edge of the bank, just where Aymer stood, a large stone had fallen; its bed was sharply defined in the black peaty soil, and the stone lay on the child, who was quite still and silent, uttering neither moan nor cry.

"Stand here, Guy; don't follow me."

And Aymer jumped down. He touched the child's forehead, and she moaned faintly. Just then Helen and Lizzie reached the bank where Guy stood, looking down.

"Oh, Aymer, is she dead?" cried Helen.

"No. She moaned just now. The stone must be moved somehow; it's on her right knee."

"You'll never be able to move it, it's far too heavy. Shall I run down to the boat and bring some one to help you—Katty, or mother?"

Aymer made no answer. He set his white teeth firmly, took a steady stand on the turf at either side of the tiny stream, and stooped over the stone. Never could he have lifted it at any ordinary moment, though he was as strong a young fellow as any of his years; but now excitement and sorrow made him twice as strong as usual, and with a shout he raised the stone, and let it splash into the water.

Clarice moved, uttered a terrible scream, and then lay silent.

Lizzie was down beside her now. "Oh, Aymer, I do think she is dead; I do, indeed. Oh, poor mother!"

"No!" shouted Aymer, almost fiercely. "Don't say that! It is her knee that is hurt, and she is cold from lying in the water. It's well her head was on the bank."

He was examining the child's knee as he spoke, and his face was pale and his hands trembling, both from the strength of his feelings and the tremendous exertion he had just made.

"The stone lay here; she's not injured anywhere else. The ground is soft, or her leg would be ground to powder. Is it broken, Lizzie?"

"I don't know, it looks terrible. What are we to do now? How can we ever get her home?"

Aymer raised himself; stood upright, and turned to calculate the height of the bank. On the edge above him knelt poor little Guy, his dark blue eyes fixed on Clarice in utter misery.

"Clarice is not killed, Guy. My poor little chap, don't look so miserable!"

"Aymer, if she is killed, I hope the police will take and hang me! For it was because I stood on the stone. She jumped down, and then stood calling me to jump too; but it looked so steep, and I felt the stone going and went back—and then it fell, and Clarice screamed, and—oh, Nelly, Nelly!"

Helen kissed and soothed him, but Aymer said, "Don't make a fuss now, Guy. We must not think of anything but Clarice. Girls, I'm going to lift her; she must not lie in the water any longer. I'll lay her on this bit of turf. There, my poor little pet! Now give me your handkerchiefs, girls; and your apron, Helen. Hand me that bit of stick. See, Lizzie, help me. I must tie it so as to prevent it from hanging down or moving. There!—" As he finished his rough surgery (rough in appliances, but not roughly done) "There, that's all I can do. I never could get her up there without shaking her. I must carry her up the bed of the stream until we come to the place where the banks are low. Then I'll go through the field into the lane,—you know where the lane leads down to the river? You, Helen, go down at once and bring the boat to meet us there. Do you think you can?"

"Yes, I can; Guy will help me. Come, Guy, we'll climb down here."

"You come with me, Liz; I may want help."

Then he lifted the child in his arms, and up the stream they waded. It was never up to their knees, and generally only covered their feet. Clarice moaned a little, and the sound was sweet music to their ears, for she was so white and cold that their hearts misgave them sometimes.

It seemed a weary way; but they reached the lane at last, and were soon at the river side, where the boat was waiting for them. Clarice was gently laid in the bottom of the boat, and Lizzie got in, that she might help Aymer when they reached the other side.

Meantime Elise had got through a great deal of hard work; generally the afternoon was lesson time, but the children's holiday was no holiday to her. When the sun began to get low, she went with a smile to mix the cake for which saucy Clarice had begged. She set it on the griddle (if you don't know the taste of hot griddle cake, I am sorry for you, and hope you will, some day), and then left it to Katty's care, while she went out on the door-steps to see if the children were coming over the river.

What she did see was Helen slowly and carefully pulling the boat up the river, while Guy followed as best he might along the shore; in a moment the mother's heart took alarm. Where were the others? What had gone wrong with them? She was sure that Guy was crying, and he did not often cry. In her alarm, she did what she had not done for many a day. She went into the room where her husband sat at his desk, and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. Egerton, something has happened to the children."

"What!" he said. "Where are they?"

"Over the river. Helen is taking the boat round the point."

"Well, what of that? Do you think she cannot do it safely?"

"It is not that, but why is she doing it? Where are the others? What has happened, that they cannot come to the usual place?"

"Really, Elise, I think you are exciting yourself for nothing. I am very busy. They will all be home directly, you'll find."

She turned and left the room. It was growing dark, and she could no longer see clearly; but in a few minutes, a figure came quickly up the steep lawn, and Lizzie ran up to her.

"Mother, Clarice has had a fall, and is hurt. A stone fell on her. Aymer is carrying her up from the boat."

Aymer was beside them already.

"Don't try to take her, mother, darling. Her knee is badly hurt, but she's not hurt anywhere else, I think. Let me carry her to her bed at once; she's all wet and dripping."

At the sound of the voices Katty came running out of the kitchen.

"Och! Murdher! What's the matter with the darling of me heart?"

But Elise spoke not a word. She went up-stairs before Aymer, and took an old waterproof cloak from the place in the passage where it hung, laying it over Clarice's little bed, to keep it dry. Aymer laid his burden down tenderly.

"I must go back for the others now," he said; "but then I'll go for the doctor. I think you must have a doctor, mother."

She made a sign to him to go, and began to unfasten the child's dress with steady hands, though her face was white.

"Aymer, I'll go over in the boat for Helen and Guy," whispered Lizzie; "I shall not be afraid. You catch Rufus and ride to E—. Katty, you get any thing mother wants. I will be back as soon as I can."

Poor little Clarice! There she lay with the thick wreath of primroses still crowning her dark hair, and her basket of flowers crushed up in her arms—a poor little crushed flower herself.

Aymer had a long six miles—six Irish miles of a hilly road, to ride on his rough but sure-footed little pony. But he got to E— at last, and fortunately found Dr. Garvey at home. The doctor promised to come "as fast as the car would be ready," and to bring what he thought might be needed; and Aymer rode back, glad to be passed by the doctor on the road.

Mr. Egerton sat at his desk; not hearing any unusual sounds, he soon forgot his wife's "absurd panic." The daylight faded, and he lighted his lamp, and read, wrote, and dreamed on. He was not called to tea, but that did not disturb him in the least; he would never have remembered any meal for himself. But when several hours had passed since tea-time, he began to feel hungry, and while he was dimly wondering what ailed him, Aymer entered the room.

"Father," said he—and no one would have known his voice, nor indeed his manner; nay, his very face was different, somehow—"Father, Dr. Garvey wants to speak to you."

"Dr. Garvey! Why, who—what brings him here?"

"I went for him; Clarice has had a fall; she is badly hurt. Here is Dr. Garvey."

He let the doctor enter, and then left the room. Mr. Egerton looked like one but half awake.

"What is it, Dr. Garvey? I did not quite catch what the boy said. An accident to little Clarice, was it?"

"Yes, and I fear a very serious one. A large stone was loosened in its bed, first by her own jump from it—they were all scrambling about on the other side of the river—and then Guy got up to jump after her, and felt the stone going. He contrived to jump off, and the stone fell, knocking the little girl down and crushing her right knee very badly. I don't think any bones are broken, for the damp and soft ground saved her a good deal, but it is a bad injury, and I fear inflammation. The child's whole system, too, has received a great shock, for she lay half in the water for some time before Guy could find the others and bring help. I would not tell Mrs. Egerton how serious it is, because she seems so unhappy already that I quite dread knocking her up altogether."

Mr. Egerton, wide awake now, listened to all this with a dark frown. If he had a soft place in his heart, it was for little Clarice; and the impression left upon his mind by what the doctor said was, that there had been great carelessness on the part of the elder children, and that Guy was in some way to blame for the whole affair.

So instead of going up-stairs to say a few kind words to his poor wife, as soon as the doctor had left him, he sent for the children, and gave them such a rating that he soon had Lizzie and Helen in tears, and Aymer in a state of speechless fury. As for poor little Guy, he was sent off to bed supper-less, as a punishment for the accident which was breaking his warm little heart!

And need I say that not one of the four ever forgot their father's injustice? Oh, if people would but remember that injustice is the one thing a child never forgets! One act of that, and your child never really trusts you again. And why did not Mr. Egerton remember how terrible he had thought his father's face of anger, when he raised his eyes from his sister's dead face and saw him riding up? Was he not doing the very same thing now? However, having thus relieved his feelings a little, Mr. Egerton went up to the room where the child lay, and where Elise sat, pale and quiet, beside the bed.

Next day Clarice was in great danger. The knee was frightfully inflamed, and fever ran high. All her long thick curls had to be out off to cool her poor little burning head; and her mother and sisters spent every hour of the day, and of the next night, in bathing the knee with cold water, to keep down the inflammation.

For many a day, the child hung between life and death; and when at last she began to get better, she was but the ghost of the lovely, rosy, sunburnt child of a little time ago; and, what was worse, the injury proved to be a lasting one. The slightest attempt to stand, or even to move, without actually using the right leg, brought back inflammation and every bad symptom. Perhaps, if the Egertons had been very rich people, and could have had the best surgical advice from Dublin, she might have made a better recovery; but that of course was out of the question. And though Dr. Garvey did his best for her, poor little Clarice seemed likely to be a cripple for life, even if she did not sink under her terrible sufferings.

Mr. Egerton, after that first night, when he found (or fancied) himself in the way, returned to his usual habits. The sight of suffering was painful to him, and the little one's moans and cries were dreadful to listen to. So he kept out of the way, and only went occasionally to see the child. He wondered angrily why her constant companion, Guy, always fled on his approach; why Aymer looked sullen, and the girls nervous, when in his presence. But, though annoyed, he was not sufficiently roused to inquire; so he wrapped his mantle of selfish abstraction still closer round him, and went back to his books and papers.

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