“It’s only a cut on the head, and a little blood, ma’am, don’t be alarmed,” said the gruff voice of Bluenose, as the footsteps ascended the stair, and approached the bedroom.
“Cut” and “blood” were the only words in this speech which made any impression on poor Mrs Laker, who trembled so violently that the curtains around her shook again.
“Lay him in my bed,” said Mrs Foster, in an agitated voice.
“W’y, the bed’s all alive—O!” exclaimed Bluenose, in surprise.
“O Laker! what are you doing there? get out, quick.”
“Mercy, good men, mercy; I—”
The sentence was cut short by a wild yell, as her eye fell on the pale and bloody face of Guy. She tumbled, clothes and all, over the side of the bed in a dead faint, and rolled, in a confused white heap, to the very feet of her astounded brother, Captain Bluenose.
“Well, if this don’t beat Trafalgar all to sticks!” exclaimed the Captain.
“Come, attend to Guy,” said Bax, in a deep, commanding voice.
He lifted up Mrs Laker and the bed-clothes as if she had been a large washing, and carried her down to her own apartment,—guided by Tommy Bogey, who knew the way,—where he placed her in bed, and left her to recover as she best might.