absence; Lucy ran up with her story, and almost at the same moment, Albinia, springing to him, murmured, ‘Oh!  Edmund, the great mercy—­Maurice;’ but there she found herself making a hoarse shriek; with a mingled sense of fright and shame, she smothered it, but there was an agony of suffocation, she felt her husband’s arms round her, heard his voice, and her boy’s scream of terror—­felt them all unable to help her, and sank into unconsciousness.

Mr. Ferrars helped Mr. Kendal to carry his wife’s inanimate form to her room.  They used all means of restoration, but it was a long, heavy swoon, and a slow, painful revival.  Mr. Kendal would have been in utter despair at hearing that the doctor was out, but for his brother, with his ready resources and cheerful encouragement; and finally, she lifted her eyelids, and as she felt the presence of her two dearest guardians, whispered, ‘Where is he?’

Lucy reported that he was with Susan, and Albinia, after hearing her husband again assure her that he was quite safe, lay still from exhaustion, but so calm, that her brother thought them best alone, and drew Lucy away.

In about a quarter of an hour Mr. Kendal came down, saying that she was quietly asleep, and he had left the nurse with her.  He had yet to hear the story, and when he understood that the child had been madly careering along the towing-path, on the back of young Dusautoy’s most spirited hunter, and had been only stopped when the horse was just about to leap the tall gate, he was completely overcome.  When he spoke again, it was with the abrupt exclamation, ‘That child!  Lucy, bring him down!’

In marched the boy, full of life and mischief, though with a large red spot beneath each eye.

‘Maurice!’ Gilbert had often heard that tone, but Maurice never, and he tossed back his head with an innocent look of fearless wonder.  ’Maurice, I find you have been a very naughty, disobedient boy.  When you rode the pony round the yard, did not I order you never to do so again?’

‘I did not do it again,’ boldly rejoined Maurice.

’Speak the truth, sir.  What do you mean by denying what you have done?’ exclaimed his father, angrily.

‘I didn’t ride the pony,’ indignantly cried the child, ’I rode a horse, saddled and bridled!’

‘Don’t answer me in that way!’ thundered Mr. Kendal, and much incensed by the nice distinction, and not appreciating the sincerity of it, he gave the child a shake, rough enough to bring the red into his face, but not a tear.  ’You knew it was very wrong, and you were as near as possible breaking your neck.  You have frightened your mamma, so as to make her very ill, and I am sorry to find you most mischievous and unruly, not to be trusted out of sight.  Now, listen to me, I shall punish you very severely if you act in this disobedient way again.’