When the service was over she took the more secluded way home; those of
the servants who had attended returning as usual by the road. On reaching
the turning where the three paths diverged, the faintness which had been
hovering over her all the evening suddenly grew worse; and but for a
friendly tree, she might have fallen. It grew better in a few moments,
but she did not yet quit her support.
Very surprised was the Rector of Calne to come up and see Lady Hartledon
in this position. Every Sunday evening, after service, he went to visit
a man in one of the cottages, who was dying of consumption, and he was on
his way there now. He would have preferred to pass without speaking: but
Lady Hartledon looked in need of assistance; and in common Christian
kindness he could not pass her by.
"I beg your pardon, Lady Hartledon. Are you ill?"
She took his offered arm with her disengaged hand, as an additional
support; and her white face turned a shade whiter.
"A sudden faintness overtook me. I am better now," she said, when able to
speak.
"Will you allow me to walk on with you?"
"Thank you; just a little way. If you will not mind it."
That he must have understood the feeling which prompted the concluding
words was undoubted: and perhaps had Lady Hartledon been in possession
of her keenest senses, she might never have spoken them. Pride and health
go out of us together.
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