"It is only a little question I want to ask!" she said with the faint reflex of her old bright smile on her face--"And I'm sure you'll answer it!"
'Jimmy' Forsyth hesitated. He felt desperately uncomfortable. He instinctively knew what her question would be,--a question to which there was only one miserable answer. But her grave pleading glance was not to be resisted,--so, making the best of a bad business, he cleared the room, shut the door, and remained in earnest conversation with his patient for half-an-hour. And at the end of that time, he went out, with tears in his keen eyes, and a suspicious cough catching his throat, as he strode away from the Manor through the leafless avenues, and heard the branches of the trees rattling like prison chains in an angry winter's wind.
The worst was said,--and when it was once said, it was soon known. Maryllia was not to die--not yet. Fate had willed it otherwise. But she was to be a cripple for life. That was her doom. Never again would her little feet go tripping through the rose gardens and walks of her beloved home,--never would her dainty form be borne, a weightless burden, by 'Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt' through the flowering woods of spring,--from henceforth she would have to be carried by others up and down, to and fro, a maimed and helpless creature, with all the physical and healthful joys of living cut away from her at one cruel blow! And yet--it was very strange!--she herself was not stricken with any particular horror or despair at her destiny. When, after the doctor had left, Cicely came in, trembling and afraid,--Maryllia smiled at her with quite a sweet placidity.
"I know all about myself now,"--she said, quietly--"I'm sorry in a way,--because I shall be so useless. But--I have escaped Roxmouth for good this time!"
"Oh my darling!" wept Cicely--"Oh my dear, beautiful Maryllia! If it were only me instead of you!"
Maryllia drew the dark head down on the pillow beside her.
"Nonsense! Why should it have been you!" she said, cheerfully--"You will be a delight to the world with your voice, Cicely,--whereas I am nothing, and never have been anything. I shall not be missed---"
Her voice faltered a moment, as the thought of John Walden suddenly crossed her mind. He would perhaps--only perhaps--miss her! Anon, a braver and purely unselfish emotion moved her soul, and she began to be almost glad that she was, as she said to herself, 'laid aside.'