“No,” said the Bishop, “she came on foot.  She—­walked all the way.”

Mr. Gresley smiled.  “I am afraid, my lord, Hester has given you an inaccurate account.  I assure you, she is incapable of walking five miles, much less ten.”

“She took about five hours to do it,” said the Bishop, who had hesitated an instant, as if swallowing something unpalatable.  “In moments of great excitement nervous persons like your sister are capable of almost anything.  The question is, whether she will survive the shock that drove her out of your house last night.  Her hands are severely burned.  Dr. Brown, whom I left with her, fears brain fever.”

The Bishop paused, giving his words time to sink in.  Then he went on slowly in a level voice, looking into the fire.

“She still thinks that she has killed Regie.  She won’t believe the doctor and me when we assure her she has not.  She turns against us for deceiving her.”

Mr. Gresley wrestled with a very bitter feeling towards his sister, overcame it, and said, hoarsely: 

“Tell her from me that Regie is not much the worse, and tell her that I—­that his mother and I—­forgive her.”

“Not me, James,” sobbed Mrs. Gresley.  “It is too soon.  I don’t.  I can’t.  If I said I did I should not feel it.”

“Hester is not in a condition to receive messages,” said the Bishop.  “She would not believe them.  Dr. Brown says the only thing we can do for her is to show Regie to her.  If she sees him she may believe her own eyes, and this frightful excitement may be got under.  I came to take him back with me now in the carriage.”

“I will not let him go,” said Mrs. Gresley, the mother in her overriding her awe of the Bishop.  “I am sorry if Hester is ill.  I will”—­and Mrs. Gresley made a superhuman effort—­“I will come and nurse her myself, but I won’t have Regie frightened a second time.”

“He shall not be frightened a second time.  But it is very urgent.  While we are wasting time talking, Hester’s life is ebbing away as surely as if she were bleeding to death.  If she were actually bleeding in this room how quickly you two would run to her and bind up the wound.  There would be nothing you would not do to relieve her suffering.”

“If I would let Regie go,” said Mrs. Gresley, “he would not be willing, and we could not have him taken away by force, could we, James?”

The door opened, and Regie appeared, gently pushed from behind by Fraeulein’s thin hand.  Boulou followed.  The door was closed again immediately, almost on Boulou’s tail.

The Bishop and Regie looked hard at each other.

“I send my love to Auntie Hester,” said Regie, in his catechism voice, “and I am quite well.”

“I should like to have some conversation with Regie alone,” said the Bishop.

Mrs. Gresley wavered, but the Bishop’s eye remained fixed on Mr. Gresley, and the latter led his wife away.  The door was left ajar, but the Bishop closed it.  Then he sat down by the fire and held out his hand.