"Oh, my dear boy! my dear boy!" cried an excited voice, and Aunt Anne came rushing out of the window with a cup and saucer. "Here, drink this." "Anne! Don't be so foolish," cried her brother. "He doesn't want tea." "But there's brandy in it, Ralph," protested the lady. "Drink it, my dear; it will do you good." "Thanks," said Beck, raising his injured hand to take the cup, but letting it fall again. "Not this time," he said with a laugh, and taking the cup with his left he drained it. "That's better, Mrs Barnett," he said. "There, I'm very sorry, Mr Elthorne, I've made quite an upset." "And I'm very glad, my boy," replied his host. "What a horrible mishap!" "How is he?" cried Dana, cantering up with her sister. "Oh, it's nothing--nothing at all." "That's right," cried Saxa. "Oh, it will soon go off. Not so bad as a spill by a five-bar." "Get a liqueur," said Dana. "I say; it has made you look white. Worse disasters at sea, eh?" "Much," said Beck, quietly; and then to himself, "Oh, how I do hate a horsey woman." "I say," cried Saxa; "this isn't going to spoil our ride, is it, daddy?" "Oh, no, I hope not; but I will stay, my dears," said Mr Elthorne. "What! and not try your new horse! I should like to have the saddle shifted, and put him through his paces myself," said Saxa, looking at the noble hunter held by a groom. "No, no, my dear, not to-day," said Mr Elthorne hastily. "Alison will go with you, girls, and--oh, there's Burwood. Ask how Isabel is. Say it's all right now, and the horses are waiting. She turned faint, I suppose. Beck, come in; you had better see the doctor." "Nonsense, my dear sir. I'm all right. It isn't my bridle hand. I shall not want a whip." "Oh, no," said Sir Cheltnam; "your mount wants no whip. Shall you venture?" "Of course," said Beck, walking toward where a helper held his horse, just as Isabel came out, looking very pale. "Well, he has got some pluck in him, Al," said Sir Cheltnam, "even if he is a parson's son." "Poor fellow! yes," replied Alison. "Moral," said Sir Cheltnam laughingly, to the Lydon girls, "never give lumps of sugar to a skittish mare." Ten minutes later the little party were mounted and moved off, leaving Aunt Anne waving her lace handkerchief from the steps. CHAPTER TWO. NURSE ELISIA. The roar of the big road sounded plainly, but it was far enough off for it to be subdued into a mellow hum, suggestive to the country sufferer lying in the narrow bed with its clean linen and neat blue checked hangings by the open window, of bees swarming, and a threshing machine at work in the farm beyond the park. And yet it was London, for the windows were coated with a sooty layer outside, and the sun shone as if Nature were afraid its beams would be too strong for Londoners' eyes, to which it came as in an eclipse through smoked glass, and a murky haze full of germs and motes was interposed between the dwellers in the city and the blue sky above.