Which, taking everything into consideration, was quite the wisest decision they could have come to; it saved such a lot of breath.
They both glanced up as a hospital nurse came down the stairs. "Miss Gollanfield asked me to tell you, Sir Hubert," she remarked, "that the patient is conscious. She is sitting with him for a few minutes."
"Oh, she is, is she?" Sir Hubert rose from his chair a little doubtfully.
"Sit down, Hubert; sit down," grinned Dawlish. "Haven't we just decided to leave it all to her?"
"Well, John Marston! Feeling better?"
The man turned his head slowly on the pillow, and stared at the girl.
"What an unholy——" he muttered. "How's the horse?"
The girl looked at him steadily. "Dead—back broken. We thought you'd done the same."
"Poor brute! A grand horse." He passed one of his hands dazedly across his forehead. "I had to take him—I couldn't have caught you on mine. I must explain things to your fiancé."
"My what?" asked the girl.