“I will do it, sir!” he exclaimed, “if you will tell me where Dr Musgrave is to be found; I will be off and bring him down as soon as possible.”
“Stay, friend,” said Dr Jessop; “while you are taking some refreshment and getting your horse ready, I will write out a state of the case, and if Dr Musgrave cannot come he will send by you such remedies as he may consider efficacious.”
Paul scarcely liked the delay. He would have started on the back of the first horse he could lead out of the stable without thinking of food for himself. Within ten minutes he was galloping along through the forest. He could get to Redbridge, and Southampton, and so on to Winchester before daybreak. He could there get a fresh horse. He would distance any post-chaise; he was sure of that. He had left orders to have a fresh horse brought on for him to Southampton. He resolved not to waste a moment till he had brought the remedy for his dear Miss Lucy. His horse carried him nobly; he seemed to be aware that it was a matter of life and death. Paul had been with his master in London on several occasions. He knew the road, and being an old campaigner, without difficulty found his way to the doctor’s house. The doctor was out visiting patients. Paul fretted and fumed more than he had ever done in his life before. The servant was disposed to shut the door in his face, and send him to an inn.
“That will not do, master,” said Paul; “I must wait here till the doctor comes back, and you must put up my horse, and rub him down, and feed him well. It’s a matter of life and death;” and Paul expatiated on the youth and beauty and gentle disposition of his young mistress, till the tears rolled down his cheek, and he almost made the doctor’s somewhat morose butler weep with him.
“Oh, sir, sir, can you save her?” he exclaimed, handing Dr Jessop’s note to Dr Musgrave, when he came back. “It’s impossible that so young and sweet a creature as Miss Lucy should be allowed to die. It cannot be, sir; it cannot be; it would break the Colonel’s heart, and mine, too.”
Chapter Eight.
The Young Heiress.—Harry Comes Out in London not under the best of auspices.
Mr Musgrave threw himself into his arm-chair, and crossing his legs, with a frown of thought on his brow, looked over Dr Jessop’s notes. “I will go down to-morrow,” he said, turning to Paul, who stood before him eagerly watching his countenance, as if he could there read the probable fate of his beloved young mistress. “I cannot possibly go to-day; I may be of some use, but it is doubtful. However, I will send a medicine which may be efficacious, and suggest to Dr Jessop how he may treat the young lady.”