The only allusion that Nan made to it was as she passed out of the room
with her arm round her sister's shoulders, and whispered:
"Don't sleep by yourself to-night, darling. Make Lucy join you."
They descended the stairs, holding closely to each other. Old Colonel
Everard, very red and tearful, met them at the foot, and folded Nan
tightly in his arms, murmuring inarticulate words of blessing.
Nan emerged from his embrace pale but quite tearless.
"Au revoir, dad!" she said, in her sprightliest tone. "You will be having
me back like a bad half-penny before you can turn round."
Still laughing, she went from one to another of her family with words of
careless farewell, and finally rah the gauntlet of her well-wishers to
the waiting carriage, into which she dived without ceremony to avoid the
hail of rice that pursued her.
Her husband followed her closely, and they were off almost before he took
his seat beside her.
"Thank goodness, that's over!" said Nan, with fervour. "I'll never marry
again if I live to be a hundred! I am sure being buried must be much more
fun, and not nearly so ignominious."
She leaned forward with the words, and was on the point of letting down
the window, when there was a sudden, deafening report close to them. The
carriage jerked and swerved violently, and in an instant it was being
whirled down the drive at the top speed of two terrified horses.
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