Margaret rushed into the parlour, and fell at her master's feet, imploring him to interfere and stop the reproaches of his men, who were treating her in a way she did not deserve. Her mistress made her sit down in the keeping-room; and, speaking a few words to her husband, he left them. He remonstrated with his men, and was in the act of insisting upon their departure to their homes, as Dr. Stebbing arrived. He was desired at once to go into the parlour; and there he recognized that high-spirited girl who, in the cause of humanity, had, in her childhood, galloped the pony to Ipswich for his aid. She rose and curtseyed; but her feet gave way under her, and she sank to the floor. The memory of her dear sister, the doctor's former patient, her own happiness at that time, and her present misery, were too much for her to bear, and she was quite overcome. The good doctor raised her up, and, with his cheerful voice, tried, in his usual kind way, to comfort her. "Come, come, my girl, what's the matter? what's the matter? Are you the patient I'm come all this way to see? I thought I was sent for to see a young man. But what's the matter with you? Ah! is it so, my lassie?" (for his sagacity gave him a glimpse of the truth). "Come, cheer up, cheer up; we'll go and see the lad. I dare say he'll soon be better. Cheer up, cheer up." "Come, my good sir, let us have a light, and go upstairs," said the doctor to the master of the house. "Now, my dear, go and fetch us a towel and some warm water. Come, bestir yourself; I know it will do you good." This was the best medicine for Margaret, with whom to be told to do anything, and not to go and do it, was almost an impossibility, so much had she been accustomed to obey. All that could be done for the youth was to lay him in as easy a posture as possible; for he was in too much agony even to have his clothes removed. One of his companions sat and wiped the cold perspiration from his brows, whilst another washed his hands and face. He breathed quickly and heavily, with shuddering fits that shook the bed violently, and he was evidently in great pain. "Come, my lads, come, lend me a hand--let us see--let us see! where is the hurt?--where is the wound?--what's the lad's name?" "John Barry, sir." "John, my lad, let's look at you!" but John took no notice of the doctor. "I think, sir, his arm is broke, for it dangled by his side all the way we carried him."