Kilshaw was off his horse in an instant.
"Back there, back!" he cried. "Don't crowd on him."
The Governor rode up; a group gathered round. There was no more thought of the charge. The rioters, after an instant, broke the barricade and
came out, one by one, timidly making for the spot.
"Here," whispered Kilshaw to Dick Derosne, "you lift his head. He won't want to see me," and he drew back behind the wounded man.
The Governor dismounted and stood by his brother, but before Dick could lift Medland's head, a rough woman, in a coarse gown, pushed through, elbowing him and Lord Eynesford aside.
"Let me, gentlemen," she said, her eyes full of tears, as she pillowed his head in her lap. "He's always been for us, Mr. Medland has," she explained. "Give me a clean handkerchief, one of you."
The Governor handed his, and she wiped the clammy moisture from the forehead and hands.
Medland opened his eyes.
"The horse kicked me in the side," he murmured faintly, "here, on the right—low down. I'm in pain."