But the lady made them
set him down and support his head, while she bathed the wound, and sent
to the house for his father and mother, and when he could be safely
brought in-doors, helped with her soft hands beneath his hair, and then
became so engrossed with him that the arrival of her long-lost son was
for several hours unknown to her.
For so many things coming all at once were enough to upset any one.
Urgent despatches came hot for the hand that now was cold for ever; not
a moment to lose, when time had ceased for the man who was to urge it.
There were plenty of officers there, but no one clearly entitled to take
command. Moreover, the public service clashed with the personal rage of
the moment. Some were for rushing to the stables, mounting every horse
that could be found, and scouring the country, sword in hand, for that
infernal murderer. Some, having just descried the flash of beacon from
the headland, and heard the alarm-guns from shore and sea, were for
hurrying to their regiments, or ships, or homes and families (according
to the head-quarters of their life), while others put their coats on
to ride for all the doctors in the county, who should fetch back
the Admiral to this world, that he might tell everybody what to do.
Scudamore stood with his urgent despatches in the large well-candled
hall, and vainly desired to deliver them. "Send for the Marquis,"
suggested some one.
Lord Southdown came, without being sent for.
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