'My carriage is outside, and is at your service,' he said; 'and for the matter of that, so am I. Let me give these men directions how to move him.'
Then Michael stood aside while the doctor issued his commands.
Cyril had not regained full consciousness, but as Dr. Abercrombie placed himself beside him and applied remedies from time to time, a low moan now and then escaped from his lips.
Michael, who had to sit with the coachman, thought that long drive would never end, and yet Dr. Abercrombie drove good horses. It seemed hours before they reached Mortimer Street, and the strain on his nerves made him look so ghastly as he went into the house to prepare Mrs. Blake, that she uttered a shriek as soon as she saw his face.
'You have come to tell me my boy is dead!' she exclaimed, catching hold of him.
'No, he is not dead; but he is badly hurt, Abercrombie says. Let me go, Mrs. Blake; they want my help to carry him in. Is there a room ready? Mollie, look after your mother;' and Michael sped on his sad errand.
'Do not let anyone in, Burnett, while I examine him. Lock the door;' and Michael obeyed the doctor's orders, though an agonised voice outside entreated admittance.
Michael thought the doctor's examination would never end; but by and by he came up to Michael and drew him aside.
'Do you wish another opinion, Burnett?' he asked abruptly; 'but it is kinder to tell you that the thing is hopeless.'
'Good heavens, Abercrombie! Do you mean he will not live?'