Dermot, with his eyes full of tears, which he was squeezing and winking away, and his rapid, broken voice, had seen and heard nothing in our faces or exclamations to prepare him.  He started violently and sprang forward, meeting Lord Erymanth at the foot of the stairs, and wringing both his hands—­nay, I almost thought he would have kissed him, as he broke out into some incoherent cry of scarcely-believing joy, which perhaps surprised and touched the old man.  “There, there, Dermot, my boy, your solicitude is—­is honourable to you; but restrain—­restrain it, my dear boy—­we are not alone.”  And he advanced, a little rheumatically, to us, holding out his hand with morning greetings.

“I must send to my mother.  Joe is here with the sleigh,” said Dermot.  “Uncle, how did you come here?” he added, as reflection only made his amazement profounder.

“It is true, as you said just now, that Mr. Harold Alison is equal to a dozen men.  I owe my preservation, under Providence, to him,” said Lord Erymanth, who, though not a small man, had to look far up as Harold stood towering above us all.  “My most earnest acknowledgments are due to him,” he added, solemnly holding out his hand.

“I might have expected that!” ejaculated Dermot, while Harold took the offered hand with a smile, and a mutter in his beard of “I am very glad.”

“I’ll just send a line to satisfy my mother,” said Dermot, taking a pen from the inkstand on the hall-table.  “Joe’s here with the sleigh, and we must telegraph to George St. Glear.”

Lord Erymanth repeated the name in some amazement, for he was not particularly fond of his heir.

“Hogg telegraphed to him this morning,” and as the uncle observed, “Somewhat premature,” he went on:  “Poor Hogg was beside himself; he came to Arked at ten o’clock last night to look for you, and, luckily, I was there, so we’ve been hallooing half the night along the line, and then getting men together in readiness for the search as soon as it was light.  I must be off to stop them at once.  I came in to get the Alisons’ help—­never dreamt of such a thing as finding you here.  And, after all, I don’t understand—­how did you come?”

“I cannot give you a detailed account,” said his lordship.  “Mr. Harold Alison roused me from a drowsiness which might soon, very probably, have been fatal, and brought me here.  I have no very distinct recollection of the mode, and I fear I must have been a somewhat helpless and encumbering burthen.”

Dora put in her oar.  “Harry can carry anything,” she said; “he brought you in so nicely on his back—­just as I used to ride.”

“On his back!”

“Yes,” said Dora, who was fond of Mr, Tracy, and glad to impart her information, “on his back, with his boots sticking out on each side, so funnily!”