At Silverton station she saw the pony carriage, and in it her niece
Gillian, a girl not quite seventeen, with brown eyes showing traces
of tears.

'Mamma knew you would come,' she said.

'You have heard direct, of course.'

'Yes; Claude telegraphed. The horse fell over a precipice. Papa's
leg and three ribs are broken. Not dangerous. That is all it says;
and mamma is going out to him directly.'

'I was quite sure she would. Well, Gillian, we must do the best we
can. Has she any plans?'

'I think she waited for you to settle them. Hal is come; he wanted
to go with her, but she says it will cost too much, and besides,
there is his Ordination in Advent.'

'Has she telegraphed to your uncles?'

'To Beechcroft and to Stokesley; but we don't quite know where Uncle
Reginald is. Perhaps he will see the paper.'

Gillian's tears were flowing again, and her aunt said---

'Come, my dear, you must not give way; you must do all you can to
make it better for your mother.'