'Is he dead? Oh, say he is not dead!' Bryda moaned. 'Say he is not dead!'
But the doctor did not reply. He unfastened the high cravat, with its lace ends, unbuttoned the two-fold waistcoats, one of cherry colour the other of buff, the deep red edge showing against the paler hue. He flung back the frilled shirt and put his head against Mr Bayfield's side, took the long, limp hands in his, put his finger on the pulse, and finally drew his large watch from his fob and looked narrowly down at its round white-rimmed dial.
'No, he is not dead,' he said shortly to Bryda; 'go to my gig, open the well behind, and bring me a black case--make haste.'
Bryda staggered to her feet and did as she was bid. The doctor unstrapped the case, and taking out a small bottle, dropped some of its contents between the Squire's lips.
A slight movement of the eyelids followed just as old Silas returned with the horse and gig, which had been waiting with a servant till Mr Bayfield joined them about a quarter of a mile down the lane.
'Who did it?' the servant asked. 'Whose work is this?'
'It was a fight,' Bryda faltered; 'it was a fight.'
'Oh, do not ask me--do not ask me,' she murmured.
'Poor little dear!' said the doctor. 'Was it a fight about you--eh? Why, it's one of old Farmer Palmer's grand-daughters, I declare. Cheer up, my pretty one, yours is not the first pretty face which has made mischief between two suitors. There! there! he isn't dead yet, and he may live. I can't say yet, but we must get him home. How far is it?'
'Well, we must lay him across my shandry, it's more roomy than his gimcracky gig. And you,' he said, turning to the servant, 'must lead the horse. I'll watch him, and we can make a roughish sort of bed with the cushions from the gig. And what shall I do with you, my dear?' the doctor asked.
'Nothing! nothing! I must go back to Bristol. Madam will be so angry. Silas, give my love to Betty, and tell her I will write to her. I dare not go home--no, I dare not, Silas. Aunt Dorothy would say it was all my fault, and so it is! so it is!' Then Bryda turned away, saying, 'He is not dead, you are sure?'
'Quite certain sure,' Silas replied. 'But lor' bless you, Miss Biddy, come along home; you look like a ghost!'