“I never saw such a splendid thing in my life, never—the greatest gallantry and presence of mind! A moment later and they would have been over! My dear fellow, I owe you more than I can say—Lady Hubbard, and your own sister, and Jack’s pretty little Gipsy—my horses starting off in that way. I can never thank you—never. I couldn’t have believed it. And I thought it was all over with you!”
“I am not seriously hurt, sir,” said Alvar, sitting up, “and there was nothing else to be done; it is not worth your thanks.”
“Is not it?” cried Mr Stanforth, unable to restrain himself. “More thanks than can be spoken.”
“I’ll accept them all for him,” said Cheriton, looking up, his face full of triumph; while Nettie, hitherto steady, broke down, to her own disgust, into sobs.
“I’m not frightened—no!” she said, as Gipsy tried to soothe her. “But I thought he wasn’t worth anything—and he is!”
“Come,” said Sir John, “we must not have any more heroics, and the hero must go home and rest—to Ashrigg, I mean. And you too, Cherry, go and look after him; here’s your grandmother’s carriage, while I see if my horses are fit to be trusted with the ladies.”
Alvar was still dizzy and shaken, though he said that the hurt to his arm was a trifle, and now stood up and inquired after his horse, which had been caught by a bystander, and was unhurt. Sir John’s coachman had also escaped with some severe bruises; and there was a general move. Jack, seeing Gipsy with her father, followed his brothers, anxious about them both, and overflowing with gratitude towards Alvar for his darling’s safety.
But as they turned to drive away they were obliged to cross the ground, and there rose from all sides such a thundering shout as threatened a repetition of the former danger; yeomanry, volunteers, and spectators, all joining in such an outburst of enthusiasm as had never echoed over Ashrigg Moors before. Their driver pulled up in the centre of the field with the obvious information,—
“They’re cheering, sir; it’s for you.” Alvar stood up, with his hand on Jack’s shoulder, and bowed with a grace and self-possession from which his pale face and hastily extemporised sling did not detract, and which his brothers—agitated, and ashamed of their agitation, were far from rivalling, as Jack desired the driver to “get on quick,” and Cheriton bent down his head, quivering in every nerve under the wonderful influence of that unanimous shout.
Some hours later, as Alvar lay on a sofa at Ashrigg, resting in preparation for the public dinner at Hazelby, for which every one had declared he must be well enough, the doctor included, he looked at Cherry, who sat near him, and said, with a smile,—“Cherito mio, I think they would all have grieved for me—the twins and all—if I had been killed. They would have been sorry for me—now.”