CHAPTER XII

Valancyhurriedhomethroughthefaintbluetwilight—hurriedtoofastperhaps.Theattackshehadwhenshethankfullyreachedtheshelterofherownroomwastheworstyet.Itwasreallyverybad.Shemightdieinoneofthosespells.Itwouldbedreadfultodieinsuchpain.Perhaps—perhapsthiswasdeath.Valancyfeltpitifullyalone.Whenshecouldthinkatallshewonderedwhatitwouldbeliketohavesomeonewithherwhocouldsympathise—someonewhoreallycared—justtoholdherhandtight,ifnothingelse—someonejusttosay,“Yes,Iknow.It’sdreadful—bebrave—you’llsoonbebetter”notsomeonemerelyfussyandalarmed.NothermotherorCousinStickles.WhydidthethoughtofBarneySnaithcomeintohermind?Whydidshesuddenlyfeel,inthemidstofthishideouslonelinessofpain,thathewouldbesympathetic—sorryforanyonethatwassuffering?Whydidheseemtoherlikeanold,well-knownfriend?Wasitbecauseshehadbeende