Shirley

whoever might be absent.«
    »He is coming here toward us, Shirley!«
    »Towards the pump, that is to say, for the purpose of washing his hands and his forehead, which has got a scratch, I perceive.«
    »He bleeds, Shirley: don't hold me; I must go.«
    »Not a step.«
    »He is hurt, Shirley!«
    »Fiddlestick!«
    »But I
must
go to him: I wish to go so much: I cannot bear to be restrained.«
    »What for?«
    »To speak to him, to ask how he is, and what I can do for him?«
    »To teaze and annoy him; to make a spectacle of yourself and him before those soldiers, Mr. Malone, your uncle, et cetera. Would he like it, think you? Would you like to remember it a week hence?«
    »Am I always to be curbed and kept down?« demanded Caroline, a little passionately.
    »For his sake, yes. And still more for your own. I tell you, if you showed yourself now, you would repent it an hour hence, and so would Robert.«
    »You think he would not like it, Shirley?«
    »Far less than he would like our stopping him to say good-night, which you were so sore about.«
    »But that was all play; there was no danger.«
    »And this is serious work: he must be unmolested.«
    »I only wish to go to him because he is my cousin, – you understand?«
    »I quite understand. But now, watch him. He has bathed his forehead, and the blood has ceased trickling; his hurt is really a mere graze: I can see it from hence: he is going to look after the wounded men.«
    Accordingly Mr. Moore and Mr. Helstone went round the yard, examining each prostrate form. They then gave directions to have the wounded taken up and carried into the mill. This duty being performed, Joe Scott was ordered to saddle his master's horse, and Mr. Helstone's pony, and the two gentlemen rode away full gallop, to seek surgical aid in different directions.
    Caroline was not yet pacified.
    »Shirley, Shirley, I should have liked to speak one word to him before he went,« she murmured, while the tears gathered glittering in her eyes.
    »Why do you cry, Lina?« asked Miss Keeldar a little sternly. »You ought to be glad instead of sorry. Robert has escaped any serious harm; he is victorious; he has been cool and brave in combat; he is now considerate in triumph: is this a time – are these causes for weeping?«
    »You do not know what I have in my heart,« pleaded the other: »what pain, what distraction; nor whence it arises. I can understand that you should exult in Robert's greatness and goodness; so do I, in one sense, but, in another, I feel
so
miserable. I am too far removed from him: I used to be nearer. Let me alone, Shirley: do let me cry a few minutes; it relieves me.«
    Miss Keeldar, feeling her tremble in every limb, ceased to expostulate with her: she went out of the shed, and left her to weep in peace. It was the best plan: in a few minutes Caroline rejoined her, much calmer: she said with her natural, docile, gentle manner –
    »Come, Shirley, we will go home now. I promise not to try to see Robert again till he asks for me. I never will try to push myself on him. I thank you for restraining me just now.«
    »I did it with a good intention,« returned Miss Keeldar.
    »Now, dear Lina,« she continued; »let us turn our faces to the cool morning breeze, and walk very quietly back to the Rectory. We will steal in as we stole out: none shall know where we have been, or what we have seen to-night: neither taunt nor misconstruction can consequently molest us. To-morrow, we will see Robert, and be of good cheer; but I will say no more, lest I should begin to cry too. I seem hard towards you, but I am not so.«
     
     
Chapter XX
To-morrow
    The two girls met no living soul on their way back to the Rectory: they let themselves in noiselessly; they stole up-stairs unheard: the breaking morning gave them what light they needed. Shirley sought her couch immediately; and, though the room was strange – for she had never slept at the Rectory before – and though the recent scene was one unparalleled for excitement and terror by any it had hitherto been her lot to witness, yet, scarce was her head laid on the pillow, ere a deep, refreshing sleep closed her eyes, and calmed her senses.
    Perfect health was Shirley's enviable portion; though warm-hearted and sympathetic, she was not nervous: powerful emotions could rouse and sway, without exhausting, her spirit: the tempest troubled and shook her while it lasted; but it left her elasticity unbent, and her freshness quite unblighted. As every