Her sister, with eyes resolutely turned away,
had been half panting all this while, and now
turned round suddenly, her cheecks colouring fast.

"O, don't say that— you must not say that,"
she said, hurriedly. "His fault? no. I saw it
all. I had the glass. No, you shouldn't say it,
you can't say it, you know you can't!"

"O, Violet! Violet!" said her sister, reproachfully.

As for John Hanbury, he stood gasping at
her— all "ébahi," as the French say.

"I saw it all," continued the girl, with the
same excitement. "I shouldn't have said a word
if he had not tried to put it on— on— that poor
creature— who is lying below, and who can't
speak or deny anything."

Hanbury gave a groan. "I never said so—
indeed I never meant to say so— only I admit it
looked so ugly and so wicked in me— especially
after the way we left the carriage before the
race."

The elder sister said, warmly, "No one thinks
of such an idea, and as for Violet, I know she
doesn't. We are all flurried."

Violet cast down her eyes; she was a little
ashamed of her sudden outbreak.

The doctor was now seriously at work on the
luckless Fermor. An express had been sent for
a greater doctor, who might arrive by evening.
The two girls fluttered about, half way up, half
way down stairs, uneasy and excited, the second
strangely so. Every one that passed up to fetch
some aid or appliance, she seemed to search
with a look of anxious questioning. Major
Carter was invaluable. He gave confidence.
(Hanbury was of no more practical use than a
child— was even in the way.) He was in the
drawing-rooms, in the parlour, always pouring
out liquid sentences in a low and steady voice;
just as he would presently be pouring out
"drops" from a medicine-bottle. He had known
something of the "young man below." Lady
Laura Fermor— who had been, you know, Lady
Laura Stonehewer— he had met the whole family
at Nice or Florence, or Aix-la-Chapelle— charming
people. "No danger, I can assure you. I
make it as a particular request you will not be
uneasy. I know something of the man below
— very safe and steady— attended an old friend of
mine. Sir James Macgregor: but when Cade
comes down, in his hands he is quite safe. There
is no man in whom I feel such confidence, in any
crisis of the kind. In any part of the world, I
would telegraph for Cade."

In about three hours Cade arrived, a thin
swarthy man, in a very high-collared frock-coat
He did not lose a second. He was in a hurry to
see what business there was for him to do, but
happily, by some fierce engines of the local
doctors, a little life and feeling had been broughi
into that poor beaten, battered skull.

Mr. Cade turned back wet cloths, unswathed
the head as if he were unrolling a mummy,
pressed it firmly here and there, tapped it
looked at it reflectively with his own head a
little to one side, as if he were admiring phrenoogical
bearings. When he had done, he conferred
with his professional brother, seemed to agree
with him, and then, as of course, picked out
Major Carter. It was thus, by a sort of fixed
and eternal law, that Major Carter was to affect
any one into whose presence he came. Mr. Cade
spoke, then looked nervously at his watch.

The ladies were waiting anxiously for the verdict
of the medical jury. For one with whom
they had so trifling an acquaintance there was
no pretence of deep feeling or positive anguish.
Still it was one of those "dreadful things"
which, happening under our own eyes, with all
the dramatic effects and properties of an
accident, excite an almost artificial sympathy.

To them glided in the foreman, Major Carter,
with the issue paper in his hand. It was a
prescription.

"Well!" they said, together.

"Hush, hush, my dear madam," he said; "we
must get this off first. There, now, Cade says
he will do. No danger at present. I knew Cade
was the man."

His listeners were so thankful, that they did
not perceive this little encomium on Mr. Cade
was scarcely just; for, unless he possessed the
Royal Charm of healing by Touch, as yet his
services had not gone beyond mere examination.

"And I think, my dear madam," continued
Major Carter, " that by noon to-morrow we
shall be able to get him away down to some quiet
place." (He, too, had a sort of medical manner,
solid and reassuring.) "I can quite feel how
unpleasant it must be for you all, having this
business going on here. But you know— common
charity, my dear madam— common charity."

It was a relief to Mrs. Manuel to hear both
pieces of news. She had hardly recovered the
shock of their having a male, possibly a dying,
invalid— cast down among them.

Mr. Cade was gone, having taken his
confidential pecuniary farewell of John Hanbury.
For these offices, to say the truth, he had looked
towards Major Carter, as being the more prominent
of the persons he had been in relation with,
and had seen him retire with uneasiness. But
John Hanbury performed the duty with even
splendour.

CHAPTER X. A NIGHT SCENE.

THIS common danger and common excitement
is a link of sympathy. By the close of this day they
knew the white-haired boy-ensign, "Little Brett,"
perfectly. He showed a natural feeling that
quite gained upon them, and though serving
his poor friend had unconsciously brought about
an introduction, this idea scarcely visited him.
Major Carter was gone; but after dinner it was
agreed between John Hanbury and Young Brett,
both eager to do the whole duty, that each should
relieve the other in watching, Hanbury taking
one half of the night, Young Brett the other.
Young Manuel, who, after the first sensation and
earlier sympathy, had began to look distrustfully