Later had
followed a pleasant dreamy consciousness of warmth which had brought with
it realisation of the fact that previously she had been feeling terribly
cold. Then voices again--notably Maria's this time: "She'll do now, Mrs.
Hilyard, mum. 'Tis only warmth she wants."
Why did she want warmth? When it was summer. She was sure it _was_ summer.
She remembered seeing the sun overhead--hanging in the middle of the sky
just like one of those solid-looking gold halos which the Old Masters used
to paint round the head of a saint. At least ... had it been in the sky ...
lately? To-day? And then, accompanied by a rush of blind terror, came
recollection--of an overcast sky and grey, plunging sea, and of a wild,
futile, suffocating struggle against some awful force that had tossed her
hither and thither as a child might toss a ball, and had finally surged
right over her, blotting out everything.
A little moan of horror escaped her, and immediately Robin's dear familiar
voice answered reassuringly:
"You're quite safe, old thing--tucked up in bed. So don't worry."
He was bending over her, and she made an instinctive effort to sit up. The
movement sent a stab of agony through her whole body, and she gasped out
convulsively:
"It hurts!"
In a moment his arm was round her shoulders, and he had laid her gently
back against her pillows.
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