"There he is at last," said the Bishop, and before the bell could be rung he opened the door.
A figure was already on the threshold, but it was not Dr. Brown. It was Dick.
"Where is Dr. Brown?" said Rachel and the Bishop simultaneously, looking at the doctor's well-known brougham and smoking horses.
"He asked me to come," said Dick, measuring Rachel with his eye. Then he did as he would be done by, and added, slowly: "He was kept. He was on his way here from Wilderleigh, where one of the servants is ill, and as I was dining there he offered me a lift back. And when we were passing that farm near the wood a man stopped us. He said there had been an accident—some one nearly drowned. I went, too. It turned out to be Scarlett. Dr. Brown remained with him, and sent me to take you to him."
"Is he dead?" asked Rachel, her eyes never leaving Dick's face.
"No, but he is very ill."
"I will come now."
The chaplain came slowly across the hall, laden with books and papers.
"Let Canon Sebright know at once that I cannot take part in the service," said the Bishop, sharply; and he hurried down the steps after Rachel, and got into the carriage with her. Dick turned up the collar of his fur coat, and climbed up beside the coachman.
The carriage turned warily, and then set off at a great pace.