“Oh no,” said Kitty earnestly, “and he would worry dreadfully at being so far away.”  She felt very kindly towards the doctor for his thoughtfulness for her father.

“You shall see your aunt later.  She has asked for you many times, but we hardly knew whether she was conscious or not when she spoke.  She must be kept very quiet though, and free from all anxiety.  I have got in a nurse for her.  Don’t be frightened.  You see there was no one here with the time or knowledge to give her the attention she required, and it was a very serious matter.  I sent for you because, if she really wants to see you, and it would relieve her mind in any way to do so, it is important that you should be here, and the children needed some one to—­”

“Oh,” cried Kitty, remorseful that she should have forgotten her all this time, “Anna!  What a state she must be in about her mother.  How is Anna?”

“Yes, poor Anna,” echoed Dr. Yearsley with a sigh, “she is in a very distressed state.  I wish you could calm her, and get her to pull herself together a little.”

“I will try,” said Kitty gravely.  “And there is Betty.  I am longing to see her.”

“I doubt Miss Betty’s complete joy at seeing you,” smiled the doctor.  “I think there may be some embarrassment mingled with her pleasure.  Her return was—­well, she might think it ignominious.  Luckily no one in the house but myself knows that she had really run away.  I am afraid, though, that she has something on her mind that is troubling her—­something in connection with Mrs. Pike’s illness.”

Kitty recalled Betty’s letter, and her heart sank.  She became so white, and looked so troubled, that the doctor tried to comfort her.  “Whatever she may have said or done,” he explained excusingly, “she did in utter ignorance, of course, of any ill result being likely to follow, and she cannot be blamed entirely for the disaster.  Mrs. Pike has been seriously unwell for some time; in fact, I had ventured to speak to her about her health, and warned her, but she resented my advice.  Believe me, that what has happened would have happened in any case; any little upset would have brought it about; but Betty may have precipitated matters.”

Kitty listened with wide, grave eyes; her heart was heavy and anxious, her mind full of awe and care.  How terribly serious life had become all at once; how real and possible every dreadful thing seemed, when so many came into one’s life like this.

As she left the doctor, walking away with heavy, tired steps, he looked after her, half pitying, half admiring.

“She has had some hard knocks to-day, poor child,” he said to himself, “but she has plenty of sense and plenty of pluck.  At any rate I hope so, for she will need both, I fancy, in the time that lies before her.”