I lifted my darling sister Grace, and set her against the hedge-bank, and my heart went out of me, as I knelt and whispered to her. If it had been even Dariel, could my terror have been so terrible? I pulled her riding-gloves off, and found a penny in them, the change the dear frugal soul had taken from the last turnpike gate she paid. And then when I saw her sweet kind face as white as a shroud, and the bright eyes closed, and the long black lashes that I used to vow she dyed—when I wanted to put her in a passion—lying upon the waxen cheeks, without caring a dump what any other chap might think, I lifted up my voice and wept.
"Her sweet kind face as white as a shroud."
"Shush, shush, don't be a fool, Shorje," said some fellow, pushing me away; "ze gairl is only what you called shtunned. All raight, all raight, in ten skips of ze vlea. My tear, I am ze dochtor."
I went across the road, and stood by Jackson Stoneman, who was standing as firm as a rock, and pretending to play with the whip he had picked up. "Look here," I said, "she will never pay another pike."
"Take a turn with me, my dear fellow," he replied; "Hopmann will get on better without us. My housekeeper's mother lives round the corner. Though the Lord knows that if all we want is a woman— Lord Melladew, I am so sorry for your little accident. You mustn't wear yellow spats, the next time you go shooting. Garrod will help you to your inn, and the doctor will come, when he has seen to this more urgent case. Garrod, let his lordship throw all his weight on you. Stop a moment. Send your boy at full speed to 'The Bell,' and order their low four-wheeler here. He is not to say why, for fear of frightening Lady Cranleigh. And let him take that villain of a pony to 'The Bell.'"
In less than an hour, I had the great joy of hearing that Grace was quite conscious, and had no limbs broken, nor any other injury that a few days would not cure. When the pony bolted at the shrieks and kicks and swaying figure of his lordship, a branch across the road had swept my sister from the saddle, but luckily it did not strike any vulnerable part, unless the part that often wounds a man is such. In a word it was her lump of hair, or what ladies call their chignon, into which she was obliged to coil her tresses tight for riding, that received the impact of the too obtrusive tree. But I scarcely knew what to conclude about the doctor, or Stoneman himself, who had been so uneasy about a young Earl hanging out so near our Grace, when, as sure as English words were ever uttered by a German, I heard Hopmann whisper this condolence to himself—"Zat was ze graidest shot as ever I did make. One fire, leetle bepper, bring me down two bagients."