In which Sir Francis Seddley Manipulates.

At about two o’clock Buddle was called up, and spirited away to Brandon in a dog-cart. A haemorrhage, perhaps, a sudden shivering, and inflammation — a sinking, maybe, or delirium — some awful change, probably — for Buddle did not return.

Old Major Jackson heard of it, in his early walk, at Buddle’s door. He had begun to grow more hopeful. But hearing this he walked home, and replaced the dress-coat and silk stockings he had ventured to remove, promptly in his valise, which he buckled down and locked — swallowed with agitated voracity some fragments of breakfast — got on his easy boots and gaiters — brushed his best hat, and locked it into its leather case — placed his rug, great-coat, and umbrella, and a rough walking-stick for service, and a gold-tipped, exquisite cane, for duty on promenades of fashion, neatly on top of his valise, and with his old white hat and shooting-coat on, looking and whistling as much as possible as usual, he popped carelessly into John Hobbs’s stable, where he was glad to see three horses standing, and he mentally chose the black cob for his flight to Dollington.

‘A bloodthirsty rascal that Bracton,’ muttered the major. The expenses were likely to be awful, and some allowance was to be made for his state of mind.

He was under Doctor Buddle’s porch, and made a flimsy rattle with his thin brass knocker. ‘Maybe he has returned?’ He did not believe it, though.

Major Jackson was very nervous, indeed. The up trains from Dollington were ‘few and far between,’ and that diddled Crutchleigh would be down on him the moment the breath was out of poor Lake. ‘It was plain yesterday at the sessions that infernal woman (his wife) had been at him. She hates Bracton like poison, because he likes the Brandon people; and, by Jove, he’ll have up every soul concerned. The Devil and his wife I call them. If poor Lake goes off anywhere between eleven and four o’clock, I’m nabbed, by George!’

The door was opened. The doctor peeped out of his parlour.

‘Well?’ enquired the major, confoundedly frightened.

‘Pretty well, thank ye, but awfully fagged — up all night, and no use.’

‘But how is he?’ asked the major, with a dreadful qualm of dismay.

‘Same as yesterday — no change — only a little bleeding last night — not arterial; venous you know — only venous.’

The major thought he spoke of the goddess, and though he did not well comprehend, said he was ‘glad of it.’

‘Think he’ll do then?’

‘He may — very unlikely though. A nasty case, as you can imagine.’

‘He’ll certainly not go, poor fellow, before four o’clock P.M. I dare say — eh?’

The major’s soul was at the Dollington station, and was regulating poor Lake’s departure by ‘Bradshaw’s Guide.’

‘Who knows? We expect Sir Francis this morning. Glad to have a share of the responsibility off my shoulders, I can tell you. Come in and have a chop, will you?’

‘No, thank you, I’ve had my breakfast.’

‘You have, have you? Well, I haven’t,’ cried the doctor, with an agreeable chuckle, shaking the major’s hand, and disappearing again into his parlour.

I found in my lodgings in London, on my return from Doncaster, some two months later, a copy of the county paper of this date, with a cross scrawled beside the piece of intelligence which follows. I knew that tremulous cross. It was traced by the hand of poor old Miss Kybes — with her many faults always kind to me. It bore the Brandon postmark, and altogether had the impress of authenticity. It said:—

‘We have much pleasure in stating that the severe injury sustained four days since by Captain Stanley Lake, at the time a visitor at the Lodge, the picturesque residence of Josiah Larkin, Esq., in the vicinity of Gylingden, is not likely to prove so difficult of treatment or so imminently dangerous as was at first apprehended. The gallant gentleman was removed from the scene of his misadventure to Brandon Hall, close to which the accident occurred, and at which mansion his noble relatives, Lord Chelford and the Dowager Lady Chelford, are at present staying on a visit. Sir Francis Seddley came down express from London, and assisted by our skilful county practitioner, Humphrey Buddle, Esq., M.D. of Gylingden, operated most successfully on Saturday last, and we are happy to say the gallant patient has since been going on as favourably as could possibly have been anticipated. Sir Francis Seddley returned to London on Sunday afternoon.’

Within a week after the operation, Buddle began to talk so confidently about his patient, that the funereal cloud that overhung Brandon had almost totally disappeared, and Major Jackson had quite unpacked his portmanteau.