and she turned towards the nursery.

The younger ones sat there in a frightened huddle. Mary was on a low
chair by the infant's cot, Blanche in her lap, Tom and Harry leaning
against her, and Aubrey almost asleep. Mary held up her finger as
Ethel entered, and whispered, "Hush! don't wake baby for anything!"

The first true pang of grief shot through Ethel like a dart, stabbing
and taking away her breath, "Where are they?" she said; "how is
papa? who is with him?"

"Mr. Ward and Alan Ernescliffe," said Harry. "Nurse came up just
now, and said they were setting his arm."

"Where is he?"

"On the bed in his dressing-room," said Harry.

"Has he come to himself--is he better?"

They did not seem to know, and Ethel asked where to find Flora.
"With Margaret," she was told, and she was thinking whether she could
venture to seek her, when she herself came fast up the stairs. Ethel
and Harry both darted out. "Don't stop me," said Flora--"they want
some handkerchiefs."

"What, is not she in her own room?"

"No," said Harry, "in mamma's;" and then his face quivered all over,
and he turned away. Ethel ran after her sister, and pulling out