’The poison travels.  It cannot be overtaken unless we start nearly equal, father said.’

‘Work like that wants an experienced hand.’

‘A steady one.  I would not quake—­not tremble.’

‘I cannot permit it.’

’Mr. Wythan would know!—­he would know!

‘Do you hear, Lady Fleetwood—­the dog may not be mad!’

‘Signs!  He ran heavy, he foamed.’

’Foam ‘s no sign.’

‘Go; order to me a speaker of English and Welsh.’

The earl spun round, sensible of the novelty of his being commanded, and submitting; but no sooner had he turned than he fell into her view of the urgency, and he went, much like the boy we see at school, with a strong hand on his collar running him in.

Madge entered, and said:  ’Mr. Woodseer has seen baby and Martha and the donkey all safe.’

‘He is kind,’ said Carinthia.  ’Do we right to bathe the wound?  It seems right to wash it.  Little things that seem right may be exactly wrong after all, when we are ignorant.  I know burning the wound is right.’

Madge asked:  ‘But, my lady, who is to do it?’

‘You would do it, dear, if I shrank,’ her mistress replied.

’Oh, my lady, I don’t know, I can’t say.  Burning a child!  And there’s our baby.’

‘He has had me nearly his time.’

‘Oh, my dear lady!  Would the mother consent?’

’My Madge!  I have so few of their words yet.  You would hold the child to save it from a dreadful end.’

’God help me, my lady—­I would, as long as I live I will . . . .  Oh! poor infant, we do need our courage now.’

Seeing that her mistress had not a tear or a tremor, the girl blinked and schooled her quailing heart, still under the wicked hope that the mother would not consent; in a wonderment at this lady, who was womanly, and who could hold the red iron at living flesh, to save the poor infant from a dreadful end.  Her flow of love to this dear lady felt the slicing of a cut; was half revulsion, half worship; uttermost worship in estrangement, with the further throbbing of her pulses.

The cottage door was pushed open for Lord Fleetwood and Howell Edwards, whom his master had prepared to stand against immediate operations.  A mounted messenger had been despatched.  But it was true, the doctor might not be at home.  Assuming it to be a bite of rabies, minutes lost meant the terrible:  Edwards bowed his head to that.  On the other hand, he foresaw the closest of personal reasons for hesitating to be in agreement with the lady wholly.  The countess was not so much a persuasive lady as she was, in her breath and gaze, a sweeping and a wafting power.  After a short argument, he had the sense of hanging like a bank detached to fatality of motion by the crack of a landslip, and that he would speedily be on his manhood to volunteer for the terrible work.

He addressed the mother.  Her eyes whitened from their red at his first word of laying hot iron on the child:  she ran out with the wild woman’s howl to her neighbours.