“No, no; but, by the by, I have forgotten to do your mother's bidding with respect to that very person. She expressly desired that until her own return to Mirk, Mary may be sent to Belcomb, where Madame de Castellan is just now in saddest need of her.” “Ay, she writes to me that she has lost her French maid,” said Sir Richard, picking up the crumpled note: “in that case, Mary had better go off at once.” “There is worse trouble at Belcomb than that,” remarked the doctor gravely. “That poor fellow Derrick, who, I hear, made so much disturbance at the _fête_ yesterday, has met with a sad accident.” “Why, the man was put in the Cage quite safe,” said Sir Richard. “Yes; but unfortunately for himself, he was let out again, and starting in the dark over Mirkland Hill, whole drunk, and half mad, the poor wretch wandered into the mill-yard.” “Through that gap in the wall!” exclaimed the baronet with excitement. “Didn't I say the very last time we went by, that some accident would happen there, through that man Hathaway's neglect?” “Well, it has happened now, with a vengeance,” pursued the doctor drily. “I was sent for this morning at two o'clock, to Belcomb, where this poor fellow had been carried, because it was a better place for him to lie in than the mill. Hathaway had been working overtime, it seems; the sails were going till near midnight, and the story is that this poor fellow strayed beneath them, and was absolutely taken up and carried round; but, at all events, he lies there, very ill--dying, I think--with concussion of the brain, and Heaven knows what beside. I dare not-move him even to examine his ribs.” “Good God! what can we do for him?” exclaimed Sir Richard. “Is there nothing we can send?” “He has everything he requires, or that he ever will have need of, poor fellow, in this world. But old Rachel is not a good hand at nursing, while Madame de Castellan, although good-natured enough--for a Frenchwoman--is quite incapable of such a task; so you couldn't do better than send Mary, as Madame has requested, though little knowing how much she would have need of her: her assistance will be invaluable, and indeed some sort of help must be had at once. I am going over there myself immediately, and will take her in my gig, if you can spare her, Miss Letty, and will tell her to get ready.” “By all means,” cried Letty, hastily leaving the room upon that errand. “Of course, all notion of prosecuting this poor fellow is now put out of the question, whatever happens,” observed the doctor. “Quite so--quite so,” answered the baronet eagerly. “Poor drunken wretch; I am sure I'm very sorry. And I tell you what, Dr Haldane, if this man dies, there should be some sort of deodand laid upon that Mill. Hathaway ought to be punished for wilful neglect.” “That won't bring the poor man to life again, though,” observed the doctor.