Lord Erymanth endeavoured to swallow the information suavely by the help of a classical precedent, and said, with a gracious smile, “Then I perceive we must have played the part of AEneas and Anchises—­” But before he had got so far, the idea had been quite too much for Dermot, who cried out, “Pick-a-back!  With his boots sticking out on both sides!  Thank you, Dora.  Oh! my uncle, pick-a-back!” and went off in an increasing, uncontrollable roar of laughter, while Harold, with a great tug to his moustache, observed apologetically to Lord Erymanth, “It was the only way I could do it,” which speech had the effect of so prolonging poor Dermot’s mirth, that all the good effect of the feeling he had previously displayed for his uncle was lost, and Lord Erymanth observed, in his most dry and solemn manner, “There are some people who can see nothing but food for senseless ridicule in the dangers of their friends.”

“My dear Lord Erymanth,” I said, almost wild, “do just consider Dermot has been up all night, and has had nothing to eat, and is immensely relieved to find you all safe.  He can’t be expected to quite know what he is about when he is so shaken.  Come to breakfast, and we shall all be better.”

“That might be a very sufficient excuse for you or for Viola, my dear Lucy,” returned Lord Erymanth, taking, however, the arm I offered.  “Young ladies may be very amiably hysterical, but a young man, in my day, who had not trifled away his manliness, would be ashamed of such an excuse.”

There was a certain truth in what he said.  Dermot was not then so strong, nor had he the self-command he would have had, if his life had been more regular; but he must always have had a much more sensitive and emotional nature than his uncle could ever understand.  The reproach, however, sobered him in a moment, and he followed us gravely into the dining-room, without uttering a word for the next quarter of an hour; neither did Harold, who was genuinely vexed at having made the old man feel himself ridiculous, and was sorry for the displeasure with his friend.  Nobody did say much except Eustace, who was delighted at having to play host to such distinguished guests, and Lord Erymanth himself, who was so gracious and sententious as quite to restore Dermot’s usual self by the time breakfast was over, and he saw his servant bringing back his sleigh, in which he offered to convey his uncle either home or to Arked.  But it was still fitfully snowing, and Lord Erymanth was evidently not without touches of rheumatism, which made him lend a willing ear to our entreaties to him not to expose himself.  Harold then undertook to go in search of his portmanteau either to the scene of the catastrophe or the Hall.