Fantasy fiction; Historical fiction; Middle Ages -- Fiction
"Hey, what's this?" said Dr. Jeal. "Eh, yes! Eh--yes!" he meditated,
slowly. "Most irregular. You must let us have the room, Miss Hugonin."
In the hall she waited. Hope! ah, of course, there was no hope! the
thin little whisper told her.
By and bye, though--after centuries of waiting--the three men came
into the hall.
"Miss Hugonin," said Dr. Jeal, with a strange kindness in his voice,
"I don't think we shall need you again. I am happy to tell you,
though, that the patient is doing nicely--very nicely indeed."
Margaret clutched his arm. "You--you mean----"
"I mean," said Dr. Jeal, "that there is no fracture. A slight
concussion of the brain, madam, and--so far as I can see--no signs of
inflammation. Barring accidents, I think we'll have that young man out
of bed in a week. Thanks," he added, "to Mr.--er--Jukesbury here whose
prompt action was, under Heaven, undoubtedly the means of staving off
meningitis and probably--indeed, more than probably--the means
of saving Mr. Woods's life. It was splendid, sir, splendid! No
doctor--why, God bless my soul!"
For Miss Hugonin had thrown her arms about Petheridge Jukesbury's neck
and had kissed him vigorously.
"You beautiful child!" said Miss Hugonin.
"Er--Jukesbury," said the Colonel, mysteriously, "there's a little
cognac in the cellar that--er--" The Colonel jerked his thumb across
the hallway with the air of a conspirator. "Eh?" said the Colonel.
"Why--er--yes," said Mr. Jukesbury. "Why--ah--yes, I think I might."
They went across the hall together. The Colonel's hand rested
fraternally on Petheridge Jukesbury's shoulder.
XXX
The next day there was a general exodus from Selwoode, and Margaret's
satellites dispersed upon their divers ways. Selwoode, as they
understood it, was no longer hers; and they knew Billy Woods well
enough to recognise that from Selwoode's new master there were no
desirable pickings to be had such as the philanthropic crew had
fattened on these four years past. So there came to them, one and all,
urgent telegrams or insistent letters or some equally unanswerable
demand for their presence elsewhere, such as are usually prevalent
among our guests in very dull or very troublous times.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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