resuscitation be obtained. The surgeon scorning all their legends, Griffith and Neville made hasty rushes with brandy and usquebaugh; but whether to be taken internally or externally they did not say, nor, indeed, know, but only thrust their flasks wildly on the doctor; and he declined them loftily. He melted snow in his hand, and dashed it hard in her face, and put salts close to her pretty little nostrils. And this he repeated many times without effect.
But at last her lips began to turn from lead color to white, and then from white to pink, and her heavenly eyes to open again, and her mouth to murmur things pitiably small and not bearing on the matter in hand.
Her cheek was still colorless, when her consciousness came back, and she found she was lying on the ground with ever so many gentlemen looking at her.
At that, Modesty alarmed sent the blood at once rushing to her pale cheek.
A lovely lily seemed turning to a lovely rose before their eyes.
The next thing was, she hid that blushing face in her hands, and began to whimper.
The surgeon encouraged her: "Nay, we are all friends," he whispered, paternally.
She half parted her fingers and peered through them at Neville and Gaunt. Then she remembered all, and began to cry hysterically.
New dismay of the unprofessionals!
"Now, Gentlemen, if you will lend me your flasks," said Mr. Islip, mighty calmly.
Griffith and Neville were instantly at his side, each with a flask.
The surgeon administered snow and brandy. Kate sipped these, and gulped down her sobs, and at last cried composedly.
But when it came to sipping brandied snow and crying comfortably, Major Rickards's anxiety gave place to curiosity. Without taking his eye off her, he beckoned Mr. Hammersley apart, and whispered,—
"Who the Deuse is it?"
"Don't you know?" whispered the other in return. "Why, Mistress Peyton herself."
"What! the girl it is all about? Well, I never heard of such a thing: the causa belli to come galloping and swooning on the field of battle, and so stop the fighting! What will our ladies do next? By Heaven! she is worth fighting for, though. Which is the happy man, I wonder? She doesn't look at either of them."
"Ah!" said the gentleman, "that is more than I know, more than Neville knows, more than anybody knows."
"Bet you a guinea she knows,—and lets it out before she leaves the field," said Major Rickards.
Mr. Hammersley objected to an even bet; but said he would venture one to three she did not. It was an age of bets.
"Done!" said the Major.
By this time Kate had risen, with Mr. Islip's assistance, and was now standing with her hand upon the piebald's mane. She saw Rickards and Hammersley were whispering about her, and she felt very uneasy: so she told Mr. Islip, timidly, she desired to explain her conduct to all the gentlemen present, and avert false reports.
They were soon all about her, and she began, with the most engaging embarrassment, by making excuses for her weakness. She said she had ridden all the way from home, fasting; that was what had upset her. The gentlemen took the cue directly, and vowed eagerly and unanimously it was enough to upset a porter.
"But, indeed," resumed Kate, blushing, "I did not come here to make a fuss, and be troublesome, but to prevent mischief, and clear up the strangest misunderstanding between two worthy gentlemen, that are, both of them, my good friends."
She paused, and there was a chilling silence: everybody felt she was getting on ticklish ground now. She knew that well enough herself. But she had a good rudder to steer by, called Mother-Wit.
Says she, with inimitable coolness,—
