“Well, miss, the fact is that Lord Carthew, one of the young gentleman as was staying up at the Chase, we think as he’d got a bit of fever over his wound, for about two o’clock this afternoon in he staggers to the inn-yard all alone, and pale as a co’pse. ‘Hullo, my lord, is it you?’ I begins, being the first to see him, when he cuts me short like, telling me it ain’t his name, and that he’s called plain Mr. Pritchard. Then he orders me to saddle Black Bess at once, and be quick about it. I thought he looked a bit queer and feverish, so I makes a long job of it, but I had to get it through at last. When mounted, he was that weak he could hardly hold the reins, but he chucks me a sovereign and rides out of the yard, sitting as upright as you or me could do--begging your pardon, miss. I felt sort of anxious about him, but I’d a deal of work on hand, being market-day in Grayling, when about an hour later who should come clattering back into the yard but bonny Black Bess, with her master hanging half unconscious over her neck, and his shoulder all covered with blood, owing to his wound having broken out again. I never did see a sensibler animal nor that mare. It’s my belief that Lord Carthew had nothing to do with it, but that that there animal’s own instinct told him to make the best of his way back to us. My master, he wanted to drive his lordship back here to the Chase, miss; but Lord Carthew, he was conscious by that time, and he wouldn’t hear of it. ‘Send for a doctor,’ he said; ‘any one about here will do. Let him patch up this wretched scratch so that I can get on with my journey to London.’ So, as they couldn’t spare me, our boy was sent to Grayling in the cart to fetch Dr. Netherbridge, as has been settled in the town twenty years or more, and is a very good doctor as doctors go, though I don’t much believe in ’em myself. The boy he couldn’t find the doctor at first, and when at last he brings him, his lordship was pretty bad, particular when he was called by his own name. Dr. Netherbridge he takes the boss aside and asks him a few questions. Then he says, ‘Send some sensible person to the Chase to inform Lord Carthew’s friend of his condition.’ Says the boss, hemming and ha’ing, ‘Sir Philip’s my landlord,’ he says, ‘and I don’t want to be party to nothing that’ll put his back up. He’s a very difficult gentleman to deal with.’ Says Dr. Netherbridge, with a queer sort o’ smile to himself like, ‘I don’t need to be told,’ says he, ‘of what Sir Philip Cranstoun is like. I’ve had some dealings with him a good many years ago. Don’t send a message by a boy,’ he says, ‘but by some one you can trust.’ With that the boss asks me to do the office, as I ain’t specially afraid of anything, living or dead, miss, saving your presence, and away I comes.” They were nearing the lodge gates now, Stella having turned in that direction as soon as the man had arrived at his recital of what had befallen Hilary.