He hastened away.  The servants had collected upon the front staircase, with lamps and candles, in fright and disorder unutterable.  Hubert repeated to them what he had said to his mother, and it seemed to be the truth, for the silence outside was unbroken.

‘I shouldn’t wonder,’ he cried, ’if they’ve made an attempt to set the house on fire.  We must go about and examine.’

The door-bell was rung loudly.  The servants rushed back up the stairs; Hubert went into the dining-room, carrying no light, and called through the shattered windows asking who had rung.  It was the vicar; the shouts had brought him forth.

‘They are gone,’ he said, in his strong, deep voice, in itself reassuring.  ’I think there were only some ten or a dozen; they’ve made off up the hill.  Is anybody hurt?’

‘No, they have only broken all the windows,’ Hubert replied.  ’But I am terribly afraid for the effect upon my mother.  We must have the doctor round at once.’

The vicar was admitted to the house, and a messenger forthwith despatched for the medical man, who resided halfway between Wanley and Agworth.  On returning to his mother’s room Hubert found his fears only too well justified; Mrs. Eldon lay motionless, her eyes open, but seemingly without intelligence.  At intervals of five minutes a sigh was audible, else she could scarcely be perceived to breathe.  The attendant said that she had not spoken.

It was some time before the doctor arrived.  After a brief examination, he came out with Hubert; his opinion was that the sufferer would not see daybreak.

She lived, however, for some twelve hours, if that could be called life which was only distinguishable from the last silence by the closest scrutiny.  Hubert did not move from the bedside, and from time to time Mr. Wyvern came and sat with him.  Neither of them spoke.  Hubert had no thought of food or rest; the shadow of a loss, of which he only understood the meaning now that it was at hand, darkened him and all the world.  Behind his voiceless misery was immeasurable hatred of those who had struck him this blow; at moments a revengeful fury all but maddened him.  He held his mother’s band; if he could but feel one pressure of the slight fingers before they were impotent for ever!  And this much was granted him.  Shortly before midday the open eyes trembled to consciousness, the lips moved in endeavour to speak.  To Hubert it seemed that his intense gaze had worked a miracle, effecting that which his will demanded.  She saw him and understood.

‘Mother, can you speak?  Do you know me, dear?’

She smiled, and her lips tried to shape words.  He bent over her, close, close.  At first the faint whisper was unintelligible, then he heard: 

‘They did not know what. they were doing.’

Something followed, but he could not understand it.  The whisper ended in a sigh, the smiling features quivered.  He held her, but was alone.