The surgeon administered snow and brandy. Kate sipped these, and gulped down her sobs, and at last cried composedly.
But, when it came to sipping brandied snow and crying comfortably, Major Rickards's anxiety gave place to curiosity. Without taking his eye off her he beckoned, Mr. Hammersley apart, and whispered, "Who the deuce is it?"
"Don't you know?" whispered the other in return. "Why Mistress Peyton herself."
"What, the girl it is all about? Well, I never heard of such a thing: the causa belli to come galloping, and swooning, on the field of battle, and so stop the fighting! What will our ladies do next? By Heaven, she is worth fighting for though. Which is the happy man, I wonder? She doesn't look at either of them."
"Ah!" said the gentleman, "that is more than I know, more than Neville knows, more than anybody knows."
"Bet you a guinea she knows; and lets it out before she leaves the field," said Major Rickards.
Mr. Hammersley objected to an even bet; but said he would venture one to three she did not. It was an age of bets.
"Done!" said the Major.
By this time Kate had risen, with Mr. Islip's assistance, and was now standing with her hand upon the piebald's mane. She saw Rickards and Hammersley were whispering about her, and she felt very uneasy: so she told Mr. Islip timidly she desired to explain her conduct to all the gentlemen present, and avert false reports.
They were soon all about her, and she began with the most engaging embarrassment by making excuses for her weakness. She said she had ridden all the way from home, fasting; that was what had upset her. The gentlemen took the cue directly, and vowed eagerly and unanimously it was enough to upset a porter.