Weyburn read

’The Countess of Ormont begs Mr. Weyburn to return instantly.  There has been an accident in his home.  It may not be very serious.  An arm—­a shock to the system from a fall.  Messenger informs her, fear of internal hemorrhage.  Best doctors in attendance.’

He handed Lady Charlotte the letter.  She humped at the first line, flashed across the remainder, and in a lowered voice asked—­

‘Sister in the house?’

‘My mother,’ Weyburn said.

The groom appeared.  He knew nothing.  The Countess had given him orders to spare no expense on the road to Olmer, without a minute’s delay.  He had ridden and driven.

He looked worn.  Lady Charlotte rang the bell for her butler.  To him she said—­

’See that this man has a good feed of meat, any pastry you have, and a bottle of port wine.  He has earned a pipe of tobacco; make up a bed for him.  Despatch at once any one of the stable-boys to Loughton—­the Dolphin.  Mr. Leeman there will have a chariot, fly, gig, anything, ready-horsed in three hours from now.  See Empson yourself; he will put my stepper Mab to the light trap; no delay.  Have his feed at Loughton.  Tell Mrs. Maples to send up now, here, a tray, whatever she has, within five minutes—­not later.  A bottle of the Peace of Amiens Chambertin—­ Mr. Eglett’s.  You understand.  Mrs. Maples will pack a basket for the journey; she will judge.  Add a bottle of the Waterloo Bordeaux.  Wait:  a dozen of Mr. Eglett’s cigars.  Brisk with all the orders.  Go.’

She turned to Weyburn.  ’You pack your portmanteau faster than a servant will do it.’

He ran up-stairs.

She was beside the tray to welcome and inspirit his eating, and she performed the busy butler’s duty in pouring out wine for him.  It was a toned old Burgundy, happy in the year of its birth, the grandest of instruments to roll the gambol-march of the Dionysiaca through the blood of this frame and sound it to the spirit.  She spoke no word of his cause for departure.  He drank, and he felt what earth can do to cheer one of her stricken children and strengthen the beat of a heart with a dread like a shot in it.

She, while he flew supporting the body of his most beloved to the sun of Life in brighter hope, reckoned the stages of his journey.

’Leeman at Loughton will post you through the night to Mersley.  Wherever you bait, it is made known that you come from Olmer, and are one of us.  That passes you on up to London.  Where can Lord Ormont be now?’

‘In Paris.’

’Still in Paris?  He leaves her.  She did well to send as she did.  You will not pay for the posting along the road.’

’I will pay for myself—­I have a ‘purse,’ Weyburn said; and continued, ’Oh, my lady; there is Mr. Hampton-Evey to-morrow morning:  I promised to stand by him.’