“But she's not hurt. She's helping to support one of those men.”
“Hey!” shouted his lordship from the gallery, as Penelope and two dilapidated male companions abruptly started to cut across the park in the direction of the stables. “What's up?” Penelope waved her hand aimlessly, but did not change her course. Whereupon the entire house party sallied forth in more or less trepidation to intercept the strange party.
“Who are these men?” demanded Lady Bazelhurst, as they came up to the fast-breathing young Englishwoman.
“Don't bother me, please. We must get him to bed at once. He'll have pneumonia,” replied Penelope.
Both men were dripping wet and the one in the middle limped painfully, probably because both eyes were swollen tight and his nose was bleeding. Penelope's face was beaming with excitement and interest.
“Who are you?” demanded his lordship, planting himself in front of the shivering twain.
“Tompkins,” murmured the blind one feebly, tears starting from the blue slits and rolling down his cheeks.
“James, sir,” answered the other, touching his damp forelock.
“Are they drunk?” asked Mrs. De Peyton, with fresh enthusiasm.
“No, they are not, poor fellows,” cried Penelope. “They have taken nothing but water.”