She stared blankly at him, without replying, and they silently made
their way to Mr. Gerald's carriage.

"I lost the way, and Miss Gerald found it," Lanfear explained, as he
helped her to the place beside her father.

She said nothing, and almost with sinking into the seat, she sank into
that deep slumber which from time to time overtook her.

"I didn't know we had gone so far--or rather that we had waited so long
before we started down the hills," Lanfear apologized in an involuntary
whisper.

"Oh, it's all right," her father said, trying to adjust the girl's
fallen head to his shoulder. "Get in and help me--"

Lanfear obeyed, and lent a physician's skilled aid, which left the
cumbrous efforts of her father to the blame he freely bestowed on them.
"You'll have to come here on the other side," he said. "There's room
enough for all three. Or, hold on! Let me take your place." He took the
place in front, and left her to Lanfear's care, with the trust which was
the physician's right, and with a sense of the girl's dependence in
which she was still a child to him.

They did not speak till well on the way home. Then the father leaned
forward and whispered huskily: "Do you think she's as strong as she
was?"

Lanfear waited, as if thinking the facts over. He murmured back: "No.
She's better. She's not so strong."