But at this moment **** Rabbit, who had been left behind to bring up his hounds, appeared above the bank. 'Leave your horse and come down,' said Mrs Spooner. 'Here is a gentleman who has hurt himself.' **** wouldn't leave his horse, but was soon on the scene, having found his way through another part of the fence.
'No; he ain't dead,' said ****--'I've seen 'em like that before, and they wurn't dead. But he's had a hawful squeege.' Then he passed his hand over the man's neck and chest. 'There's a lot of 'em is broke,' said he. 'We must get him to farmer Tooby's.'
After awhile he was got into farmer Tooby's, when that surgeon came who is always in attendance on a hunting-field. The surgeon declared that he had broken his collar-bone, two of his ribs, and his left arm. And then one of the animals had struck him on the chest as he raised himself. A little brandy was poured down his throat, but even under that operation he gave no sign of life.
'No, missis, he aren't dead,' said **** Rabbit to Mrs Tooby; 'no more he won't die this bout; but he's got it very nasty.'
That night Silverbridge was sitting by his friend's bedside at ten o'clock in Lord Chiltern's house. Tregear had spoken a few words, and the bones had been set. But the doctor had not felt himself justified in speaking with that assurance which **** had expressed. The man's whole body had been bruised by the horse which had fallen on him. The agony of Silverbridge was extreme, for he knew that it had been his doing. 'You were a little too close,' Mrs Spooner had said to him, 'but nobody saw it, and we'll hold our tongues.' Silverbridge however would not hold his tongue. He told everybody how it had happened, how he had been unable to stop his horse, how had jumped upon his friend, and perhaps had killed him. 'I don't know what I am to do. I am so miserable,' he said to Lady Chiltern with the tears running down his face.
The two remained at Harrington and the luggage was brought over from The Baldfaced Stag. The accident happened on a Saturday. On the Sunday there was no comfort. On the Monday the patient's recollection and mind were re-established, and the doctor thought that perhaps, with great care, his constitution would pull him through. On that day the consternation at Harrington was so great that Mrs Spooner would not go to the meet. She came over from Spoon Hall, and spent a considerable part of the day in the sick man's room. 'It's sure to come right if it's above the vitals,' she said expressing an opinion which had come from much experience. 'That is,' she added, 'unless the neck's broke. When poor old Jack Stubbs drove his head into his cap and dislocated his wertebury, of course it was all up with him.' The patient heard this and was seen to smile.
On the Tuesday there arose the question of family communication.
As the accident would make its way into the papers a message had been sent to Polwenning to say that various bones had been broken, but that the patient was upon the whole doing well. Then there had been different messages backwards and forwards, in all of which there had been an attempt to comfort old Mr Tregear. But on the Tuesday letters were written. Silverbridge, sitting in his friend's room, sent a long account of the accident to Mrs Tregear, giving a list of the injuries done.
'Your sister,' whispered the poor fellow from the pillow.
'Yes,--yes;--yes, I will.'
'And Mabel Grex.' Silverbridge nodded assent and again went to the writing-table. He did write to his sister, and in plain words told her everything. 'The doctor says he is not now in danger.' Then he added a postscript. 'As long as I am here I will let you know how he is.'
