it,” cried Saxa. “I told Dan here that I didn’t like the looks of the mount, but it was no use to tell the old man. He always would have his own way, eh, Dan?”
“Always,” assented her sister.
“Burwood,” cried Neil impatiently, “will you give me your help?”
“Certainly. What shall I do?”
“Take these ladies away somewhere; their talking disturbs the patient.”
“Well, I’m sure!” cried Saxa with a laugh full of annoyance. “But we will not trouble Sir Cheltnam; we know our way back.”
“Here’s someone else coming who will be more civil, perhaps,” said Dana to herself, as Isabel, followed by half the household, came hurrying back.
Alison was returning too, with some of the stablemen and gardeners bearing a light iron gate and the mattress, with the result that the sufferer was borne carefully back to the house.
“I say, Elthorne, though,” said Sir Cheltnam, as they followed behind; “no offence to your brother, who is, I dare say, clever enough, – I forgot that he was a doctor, – hadn’t you better send to the town for the best man they’ve got? I’m afraid your old gov’nor has come off badly.”
“Neil will know,” replied Alison. “He will do what is right.”
“Oh, very well; I only suggested; but I say, hadn’t you better make a bit of a clearance? So many people about must be bad for the patient.”
Alison looked at him curiously, but he said nothing, though the idea did occur to him that it would be satisfactory if his friend were to ride off in company with the Misses Lydon.
“How is he, Neil? What do you think of him?” said Alison, after quietly watching his brother for some time.
“Bad,” said Neil laconically. “I can say nothing yet for certain.”
“Will he die?”
“Please God, no; but the symptoms are serious.”
“Bones broken?”
“No; injury to the spine, I fear. I must have help and further advice.”
“I’ll send on to the town at once for Morrison.”
“No,” said Neil quietly. “This is not a case for a general practitioner. Get me a telegraph form, and have the message sent on at once.”
“Yes,” said Alison eagerly; “but tell me what you are going to do.”
“Send for Sir Denton Hayle.”
“Will he come?”
“If I ask him – yes.”
The message was written and sent off. The Lydons, after waiting till after noon, had shaken hands with the brothers, and said they were very sorry, and then accepted Sir Cheltnam’s escort home.
Neil, who had left his father’s side for a few minutes to say good-bye, heaved a sigh and turned to go back.
“They don’t seem very much broken-hearted about the poor old dad, Neil,” said Alison.
“No,” cried his brother, flashing out angrily. “I wonder sometimes whether – no, no, we can’t discuss that now, with him lying like that,” he added hastily, and he went back into the house to find that Beck still lingered.
Neil looked at him reproachfully and the young sailor caught his arm.
“I have not gone,” he said. “I’m staying in case I can be of any use.”
“Thanks,” said Neil shortly. Then a thought struck him, and he turned back. “Did you speak to my father?” he said.
Beck nodded.
“What did he say?”
“That it was impossible.”
Neil went hastily toward the room where his father had been carried, and found his sister listening by the door.
“You here, Isabel?” he said.
“Yes, dear,” she whispered in broken tones. “Let me go in and see poor papa now.”
“No, my child, not yet.”
“But, Neil, I am not a child now. You have let Aunt Anne be with him.”
“Well, she is older, and experienced, dear. Pray be patient. You will be helping me then.”
“Yes, Neil,” she said with a sigh, and she reached up and kissed him.
“That is my darling sister,” he said tenderly. “But, Neil, dear, one word – pray tell me the truth. Will papa get better?”
“Heaven only knows, dear,” he said solemnly. “He is very badly hurt.”
He passed through the door, and closed it after him almost without a sound, and then stopped to gaze on the scene before him, feeling a glow of warmth in his breast toward his Aunt, who, in their freedom from anxiety, had always seemed to him a weak, self-indulgent woman. But self was evidently forgotten now as she knelt beside her brother’s couch, holding one of his hands against her breast, and watching the pale, slightly drawn face as if her life depended upon her noting the slightest change.
“Has he moved, Aunt?” said Neil softly. She started violently.
“O Neil, dear!” she exclaimed, “I did not hear you. No, no, no,” she cried, with a burst of sobbing, “he’s dying! My poor brother! What shall I do?”
“Be patient and helpful, Aunt, dear. We must not think of our now sufferings now.”
“Yes, my dear, and I will, indeed I will. But, Neil, my love,” she whispered, as she caught his hand and held it in both hers; “don’t think me unkind. I know what a good, clever boy you are, but don’t you think you ought to send for a real doctor?”
Neil smiled sadly as he bent down and kissed the agitated woman, and thought of his diplomas, and the trust and faith of the eminent surgeon who had chosen him for assistant in the ward of the great London hospital.
“Yes, Aunt, dear,” he said quietly. “You are quite right. I have sent for Sir Denton.”
“Oh, that’s very good of you, my dear. You are so young; and I was afraid, dear, that you would be too proud to accept any help, and – ”
“Hist!” said Neil quickly; and he stepped to his father’s side, for he had seen a quick, trembling motion about the eyes, and the injured man began to mutter.
“Quite out of the question, my lad – I have made other arrangements for my child.”
He uttered a heavy sigh.
“Ride any horse – jumps well – you did not – ”
His eyes open and staring now, and fixed on his son.
“Neil!”
