The blackbirds out in the orchard were tuning up for evening.  It seemed almost dreadful they should be able to sing like that.  All the world was going on just the same!  If he died, the world would have no more light for her than there was now in his poor eyes—­and yet it would go on the same!  How was that possible?  It was not possible, because she would die too!  She saw her aunt turn her head like a startled animal; some one was coming up the stairs!  It was the doctor, wiping his wet face—­a young man in gaiters.  How young—­dreadfully young!  No; there was a little gray at the sides of his hair!  What would he say?  And Nedda sat with hands tight clenched in her lap, motionless as a young crouching sphinx.  An interminable testing, and questioning, and answer!  Never smoked —­never drank—­never been ill!  The blow—­ah, here!  Just here!  Concussion—­yes!  Then long staring into the eyes, the eyelids lifted between thumb and finger.  And at last (how could he talk so loud!  Yet it was a comfort too—­he would not talk like that if Derek were going to die!)—­Hair cut shorter—­ice—­watch him like a lynx!  This and that, if he came to.  Nothing else to be done.  And then those blessed words: 

“But don’t worry too much.  I think it’ll be all right.”  She could not help a little sigh escaping her clenched teeth.

The doctor was looking at her.  His eyes were nice.

“Sister?”

“Cousin.”

“Ah!  Well, I’ll get back now, and send you out some ice, at once.”

More talk outside the door.  Nedda, alone with her lover, crouched forward on her knees, and put her lips to his.  They were not so cold as his foot, and the first real hope and comfort came to her.  Watch him like a lynx—­wouldn’t she?  But how had it all happened?  And where was Sheila? and Uncle Tod?

Her aunt had come back and was stroking her shoulder.  There had been fighting in the barn at Marrow Farm.  They had arrested Sheila.  Derek had jumped down to rescue her and struck his head against a grindstone.  Her uncle had gone with Sheila.  They would watch, turn and turn about.  Nedda must go now and eat something, and get ready to take the watch from eight to midnight.

Following her resolve to make no fuss, the girl went out.  The police had gone.  The mother-child was putting her little folk to bed; and in the kitchen Felix was arranging the wherewithal to eat.  He made her sit down and kept handing things; watching like a cat to see that she put them in her mouth, in the way from which only Flora had suffered hitherto; he seemed so anxious and unhappy, and so awfully sweet, that Nedda forced herself to swallow what she thought would never go down a dry and choky throat.  He kept coming up and touching her shoulder or forehead.  Once he said: 

“It’s all right, you know, my pet; concussion often takes two days.”