of High Down had returned, followed by the unfortunate Hibbs.
“I am sending this fellow and Toby in search of your sister immediately, Miss Austen, with the instruction that they are to convey her hither. There were others in your party, I believe?”
“My father and mother, sir, of advanced years.”
“I fear you shall none of you make Lyme tonight Hibbs tells me of a great tree, to which he credits the chaos of his horses, that lies across the road and bars all passage.” The curl in Sidmouth's lip as he spoke these words, told all his opinion of Hibbs's excuses, “four family shall be borne to High Down, and the hospitality of this house extended gladly to all.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, with a bow of my head. “You are very kind, and we are much obliged to your goodness.”
“Think nothing of it I would that I could do more.
And now, my man,”he said to Hibbs, as we heard the sound of a carriage being brought round to the door, “be off. Do everything to assure the Austens’ comfort, since you have already assured their distress. There are lap robes and warm bricks in the carriage/’
“It may be that a waggon should serve better,” I broke in. “It might more easily cross the downs, should the road hither prove impassable. And, too, when I left my sister, she was as yet insensible from a blow to the head. She may be incapable of mounting the carriage steps, and my father is no longer strong enough to lift her.”
“The carriage will have to do,” Sidmouth said shortly. “There is not a waggon to be had tonight. Hibbs must serve, should any lifting be necessary.”
I wondered at such words, and at the obligations which could engage a farm's waggons in such darkness and rain; and wondered still more at Sidmouth's failure to go to my sister himself, when necessity pled so powerful a cause. But he turned away from me, and paced before the fire, seemingly lost in contemplation of the flames.
“Cannot we send to Lyme for a surgeon, Mr Sidmouth?” I enquired anxiously, as a new thought struck me. “My sister, I fear, is gravely injured; no care should be spared, that might prove her salvation.”
“A surgeon is utterly impossible.”
“But why?” I was astounded. “I know that a tree bars the way into town, but could not a single horse pass where a larger conveyance might not?”
“Did we send for the surgeon the entire night through, Miss Austen, we should assuredly find him already called out.”
“But you cannot know this for a certainty!”
“I fear that 1 can. I fear that I do” At that, Sidmouth braced himself against the mantel as though overcome by some powerful emotion, and I was utterly silenced.
The painful pause in our discourse was broken by the turning of the doorknob, and the silent entrance of a woman so beautiful, that had I not heard the name Sera-phine spoken already by Sidmouth himself, I am certain it should have sprung unbidden to my lips. There was that of the angel about her, in the graceful movement of her carriage, and her liquid gaze, and the unbound glory of her golden hair, that inspired one to imagine wings fluttering in the shadows to her back. And of a certainty, her appearance was not quite of this world—for though her face bore the lines of nobility, her clothing proclaimed her neither housemaid nor lady, but a common labourer of the fields. She was arrayed in a simple gown of nankeen, such as a milkmaid might wear; stout boots that had seen much use; and a flowing red cloak. An unlit lant-horn of a curious design—tall and cylindrical, and possessed of a spout—was in her right hand.
“There you are at last,” Sidmouth said, with a touch of impatience.
The angel made no reply, but awaited his command.
‘This is Miss Jane Austen.”
Her gaze turned my way, as cold as the breath of a sepulchre. Then she looked her enquiry to Sidmouth. To my surprise, he broke into a torrent of French, a language with which I am somewhat familiar; but the rapidity of his speech left me quickly behind. A few words only I caught—dogs, and the bay, and perhaps the men; and then Seraphine was gesturing towards me, her lovely face overcome with suspicion, and Sidmouth abrupdy silencing her with a word. That it was an incomprehensible one to me—lascargon—made no difference to the angel. She turned on her heel in