Quick indeed! Robert, as it proved, had met the surgeon's gig, and in it himself and Dr. Tyler, a physician from the nearest town. They had been together to a consultation. Robert, light and slim, had got into the gig between them. He was now the first to get out; and he began rushing about like a madman. The clergyman went forth and laid hands upon him. "You will do more harm than you have already done, young sir, unless you can control yourself. Here have I been at the pains of impressing upon your mother and sisters that it is nothing more than a flea-bite, and you are going to upset it all! Be calm before them, at any rate." "Oh, Mr. Cleveland! You talk of calmness! Perhaps I have killed my father." "I hope not. But I dare say a great deal depends upon his being kept quiet and tranquil. Remember that. If you cannot," added Mr. Cleveland, walking him forward a few paces, "I will just march you over to the Rectory, and keep you there until all fear of danger is over." Robert rallied his senses with an effort. "I will be calm; I promise you. Repentance," he continued, bitterly, "will do _him_ no good, so I had better keep it to myself. I wish I had shot off my own head first!" "There, you begin again! _Will_ you be quiet?" "Yes, I will. I'll go and stamp about where no one can see me, and get rid of myself in that way." He escaped from Mr. Cleveland, made his way to the kitchen-garden, and began striding about amidst the autumn cabbages. Poor Robert! he really felt as though it would be a mercy if his head were off. He was good-hearted, generous, and affectionate, but thoughtless and impulsive. As the gamekeeper was departing, after helping to carry the mattress upstairs, he caught sight of his young master's restless movements, and went to him. "Ah, Mr. Robert, it's bad enough, but racing about won't do no good. If you had but let me draw that there charge! Mr. Cleveland's ideas is sure to be right: the earl's always was, afore him." Robert went on "racing" about worse than before, clearing a dozen cabbages at a stride. "How did my father bear the transport home, Hardy?" "Pretty well. A bit faintish he got." "Hardy, I will _never_ touch a gun again." "I don't suppose you will, Mr. Robert--not till the next time. You may touch 'em, sir, but you must be more careful of 'em." Robert groaned.