Toward evening fever set in and Martin became delirious. The surgeon was called in at once. It was bad, very bad, he said, and he remained an hour or more with his patient.
Just after the surgeon left Captain Carroll called. O'Brien, who did not want to scare Hall out of Ireland just yet, met him down-stairs, and said the surgeon had declared the wound to be a dangerous one. That of course Hall already knew, and it would serve to keep him worried. Nothing more definite would be known for a day or two.
During the afternoon of the second day, when Captain Carroll called again, he met the surgeon, who told him the case was a decidedly ugly one, and that if inflammation set in, as he feared it would, there was little hope of saving Martin's life.
Carroll immediately telegraphed Hall: "Better leave. It looks very bad," and Hall having an hour to spare, caught the steamer for Liverpool. He had found his valet, Farrell, quite competent and useful, and brought him along.
Meanwhile the letters mailed by O'Brien had reached their destination—those reaching Hanley Hall causing no little commotion. Martin had closed both letters by saying: "This will be mailed only in case of my death or serious injury." And O'Brien, it should have been mentioned, had written Carden that the cause was serious injury.
Mr. Stafford and Carden immediately decided to start for Naas. The letters were received at breakfast, and during the meal the men discussed the trip and the probable condition of Martin. Mrs. Stafford and Miss Fleming expressed the greatest sympathy for Martin, but Kate remained silent. As they arose from the table, however, she said:
"Papa! Do you think—do you think we—that is, I could be of any service? It must be awful to be a stranger in one of those places—and be—be so ill!"
"Bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Stafford, looking at her in surprise. "I—I——"
Before he could go any further there was an approving chorus:
Carden. By Jove! The very thing! Kate, you're a brick!