"And how long?" she said, trembling.
Mr. Nixon hesitated. "I am afraid I can hardly answer that. The blow was
a most unfortunate one. It might have done a worse injury. Your son
might be now a paralyzed invalid for life. But the case is very serious,
nor is it possible yet to say what all the consequences of the injury
may be. But keep your own courage up--and his. The better his general
state, the more chance he has."
A few minutes more, and the brougham had carried him away. Lady Lucy,
looking after it from the window of her sitting-room, knew that for her
at last what she had been accustomed to describe every Sunday as "the
sorrows of this transitory life" had begun. Till now they had been as
veiled shapes in a misty distance. She had accepted them with religious
submission, as applying to others. Her mind, resentful and astonished,
must now admit them--pale messengers of powers unseen and pitiless!--to
its own daily experience; must look unprotected, unscreened, into their
stern faces.
"John!--John!" cried the inner voice of agonized regret. And then: "My
boy!--my boy!"
* * * * *
"What did he say?" asked Alicia's voice, beside her.
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