They had not far to ride, but Frank was evidently anxious to reach home as speedily as possible. With clenched teeth and knit brow, he urged on his pony to a gallop. Soon they reached the lodge; a few moments more and they had passed along the drive and gained the grand entrance. Lady Oldfield had just returned from a drive, and was standing on the top step.
“You’re early home,” she remarked. “Dear Frank, I hope there’s nothing amiss,” she added, noticing the downcast looks of the whole party.
Her son did not answer, but, dismounting with difficulty, began to walk up the steps. She observed with dismay that he tottered as he approached her. Could he have been drinking so freely as to be unable to walk steadily? Her heart died within her. The next moment he staggered forward, and fainted in her arms.
Chapter Five.
Good Resolutions.
“What—what is this?” cried Lady Oldfield in bitter distress. “Frank—my child—my beloved boy—oh, open your eyes—look at me—speak—what has happened? Oh, he’s dying, he’s dying—James—Richard—carry him up to his room. One of you tell Tomkins to ride off immediately for Dr Portman. Thomas, fetch me some brandy—quick—quick!”
They carried him in a state of complete insensibility to his room, and laid him on the bed. His mother stood over him, bathing his temples with eau-de-cologne, and weeping bitterly. The brandy was brought; they raised him, and poured a little through his blanched lips; slowly he began to revive; his lips moved. Lady Oldfield stooped her ear close to his face, and caught the murmured word, “Mary.”
“Oh, thank God,” she exclaimed, “that he is not dead! Does any one know how this has happened?”