“Then the recovery of her legs, I trust, may be permanent, at any rate,” I ventured, finding it difficult to know what sympathy to offer. And he replied with a curious short laugh, “Oh yes; about that there can be no doubt whatever.”

And it was due merely to the chance of my overhearing a fragment of conversation⁠—unwillingly, of course⁠—that a little further light was thrown upon the state in which the old lady actually lay. For, as I came out of my room, it happened that Colonel Wragge and the doctor were going downstairs together, and their words floated up to my ears before I could make my presence known by so much as a cough.

“Then you must find a way,” the doctor was saying with decision; “for I cannot insist too strongly upon that⁠—and at all costs she must be kept quiet. These attempts to go out must be prevented⁠—if necessary, by force. This desire to visit some wood or other she keeps talking about is, of course, hysterical in nature. It cannot be permitted for a moment.”