"Indeed, I wish I knew whether I _could_ travel in _anything_ or not.
But the next twenty-four hours will show. If it swells up, I shall have
to rest awhile at Quebec; and if it doesn't, there may be something
internal. I've read of accidents when the person thought they were
perfectly well and comfortable, and the first thing they knew they were
in a very dangerous state. That's the worst of these internal injuries:
you never can tell. Not that I think there's anything of that kind the
matter with me. But a few days' rest won't do any harm, whatever
happens; the stores in Quebec are quite as good and a little cheaper
than in Montreal; and I could go about in a carriage, you know, and put
in the time as well in one place as the other. I'm sure we could get on
very pleasantly there; and the colonel needn't be home for a month yet.
I suppose that I could hobble into the stores on a crutch."

Whilst Mrs. Ellison's monologue ran on with scarcely a break from Kitty,
her husband was gone to fetch her a cup of tea and such other light
refreshment as a lady may take after a swoon. When he returned she
bethought herself of Mr. Arbuton, who, having once come back to see if
all was going well, had vanished again.

"Why, our friend Boston is bearing up under his share of the morning's
work like a hero--or a lady with a sprained ankle," said the colonel as
he arranged the provision. "To see the havoc he's making in the ham and
eggs and chiccory is to be convinced that there is no appetizer like
regret for the sufferings of others."

"Why, and here's poor Kitty not had a bite yet!" cried Mrs. Ellison.
"Kitty, go off at once and get your breakfast. Put on my--"