He raised himself, and gazed at her in perplexity and wonder.  Henrietta’s violently throbbing heart took from her almost the perception of what was happening.

“Take breath, Willy,” said his father; “don’t keep us all anxious.”

“Bee said I was to tell Uncle Geoffrey,” said the boy.

“Is she safe?” asked Aunt Mary, earnestly.

“Yes.”

“Thanks to God,” said she, holding out her hand to Uncle Geoffrey, with a look of relief and congratulation, and yet of inexpressible mournfulness which went to his heart.

“And Fred?” said Uncle Roger.

“Do not ask, Roger,” said she, still as calmly as before; “I always knew how it would be.”

Henrietta tried to exclaim, to inquire, but her lips would not frame one word, her tongue would not leave the roof of her mouth.  She heard a few confused sounds, and then a mist came over her eyes, a rushing of waters in her ears, and she sank on the ground in a fainting fit.  When she came to herself she was lying on the sofa in the drawing-room, and all was still.

“Mamma!” said she.

“Here, dear child,”—­but it was Mrs. Langford’s voice.

“Mamma!” again said she.  “Where is mamma?  Where are they all?  Why does the room turn round?”

“You have not been well, my dear,” said her grandmother; “but drink this, and lie still, you will soon be better.”

“Where is mamma?” repeated Henrietta, gazing round and seeing no one but Mrs. Langford and Bennet.  “Was she frightened at my being ill?  Tell her I am better.”

“She knows it, my dear:  lie still and try to go to sleep.”

“But weren’t there a great many people?” said Henrietta.  “Were we not in the hall?  Did not Willy come?  O! grandmamma, grandmamma, do tell me, where are mamma and Fred?”

“They will soon be here, I hope.”

“But, grandmamma,” cried she vehemently, turning herself round as clearer recollection returned, “something has happened—­O! what has happened to Fred?”

“Nothing very serious, we hope, my dear,” said Mrs. Langford.  “It was Willy who frightened you.  Fred has had a fall, and your mamma and uncles are gone to see about him.”

“A fall!  O, tell me, tell me!  I am sure it is something dreadful!  O, tell me all about it, grandmamma, is he much hurt?  O, Freddy, Freddy!”

With more quietness than could have been anticipated from so active and bustling a nature, Mrs. Langford gradually told her granddaughter all that she knew, which was but little, as she had been in attendance on her, and had only heard the main fact of Willy’s story.  Henrietta clapped her hands wildly together in an agony of grief.  “He is killed--he is, I’m sure of it!” said she.  “Why do you not tell me so?”

“My dear, I trust and believe that he is only stunned.”

“No, no, no! papa was killed in that way, and I am sure he is!  O, Fred, Fred, my own dear, dear brother, my only one!  O, I cannot bear it!  O, Fred!”