The three little girls set up a piteous cry of "Carol," "Carol." Jane
was speechless, only wringing her hands in her extremity. What could she
do? It was half a mile to return to the farm for help, and a mile to
the nearest lodge belonging to the Manor; and there was no house
between. She could not see where Carol had fallen. But she knew it was
over the hedge into the next field. She feared the infuriated animal
would force its way through. Though she could not in any way protect
him, it seemed terrible to go from the place, even to get help, and
leave him there. Many moments were lost in her frenzied attempts to
force an entrance into the field from the lane. It was in vain. The
thick, high hedge was impregnable. She called again and again to Carol
to speak, to answer her, but there was no response. It seemed an
eternity before there was the welcome sound of a horse's hoofs in the
lane, which drew nearer until a stanhope came in sight, containing
Colonel Mandeville, a friend, and a groom.
The three little girls cried: "Daddy, Daddy, the bull has tossed Carol!"
Colonel Mandeville sprang from the vehicle on the instant, scarcely
understanding what the children said. Their distress was evident. That
was sufficient. Jane then tried to explain.
"We were crossing the field, sir. I did not know the bull was there.
He has tossed Master Carol over the hedge into this field, and we cannot
get at him."
Colonel Mandeville uttered one low, sad exclamation.
"Where is the entrance into the field?" he asked.
"There is a gate into it from the field where the bull is. Oh, please,
sir, it isn't safe; the bull is awfully enraged," she added, as Colonel
Mandeville walked towards the stile.
He turned to say to the groom: "Follow me," and to his friend: "Manton,
drive to the village and bring Dr. Burton along. I fear we shall want
him." To Jane he said briefly: "Take the children home."
Then he mounted the stile, and entered the field, a gun in his hand,
which the groom had handed him from the stanhope. The gentlemen had
been shooting. The bull was standing in the middle of the field. He
sprang towards the fresh intruder with a bellow. Colonel Mandeville
pointed his gun; there was a report, and the next instant the beast
rolled over on his side, dead. The groom then followed his master.
They had a little difficulty in opening the gate into the next field,
but succeeded at last, and were able to get in.
Under the shadow of the hedge Carol was lying--still, motionless.
Colonel Mandeville knelt beside him.
"Carol, Carol," he said softly, but there was no response. "Go to the
farm as quickly as you can. Tell them to improvise an ambulance. Bring
it along. Lose not a moment," he said to the groom.
Then he knelt on the ground, trying again to awake the boy to
consciousness: "My poor wife, how will she bear this?" he said to
himself, knowing well that Carol was as dear to her as her youngest
born, the Rosebud of the family. The signs of life were so faint, he
could not hope the boy would ever regain consciousness.
Dr. Burton was fortunately at home. In an inconceivably short time he
arrived on the scene; and the groom returned with an ambulance, followed
by the farmer, his wife, and some of the men, all anxious to give any
assistance they could.
Dr. Burton and Colonel Mandeville very tenderly lifted Carol on to the
ambulance, a faint moan was the only sign of life, but all were glad to
hear even that. Dr. Burton would not make any examination until they
could lay him on a bed, and cut off his clothes.
There was no question of breaking the news gently to Mrs. Mandeville;
she was returning from a drive as the little girls reached the gates.
They ran to her sobbing broken-heartedly.
She was very calm, but her face grew deadly white, and wore again the
strained expression which had been so frequent during the sad days of
the war. She could not remain inactive, and walked to meet the sad
procession.
As soon as Colonel Mandeville saw her, he advanced quickly to her side,
and turned her steps homeward. He would not let her see the boy as he
lay on the ambulance, looking so like death.
Only Colonel Mandeville was with Dr. Burton when he made the critical
examination. There were no broken bones, he said, but added that there
are things worse to deal with than broken bones, and hinted gravely at
concussion of the brain and spinal congestion. There were two terrible
bruises where he had been caught on the bull's horns. He could not hold
out any hope to them, but desired a second opinion, and a telegram was
at once despatched to a great London physician, who, it was calculated,
would be able to reach Mandeville that night if he caught the evening
express. Then Mrs. Mandeville took her place by the bedside. She could
do nothing, only watch in tearful silence the pallid face that had
become so dear to her, lying so still, so calm, it seemed at times the
lips were breathless. The reply telegram came quickly. Sir Wilfrid
would be able to catch the evening express which would stop at
Mandeville by request. He would reach the Manor about ten o'clock.
Not until the physician's arrival, when he and Dr. Burton held a
consultation together, did Mrs. Mandeville leave the bedside. She then
retired to her own room for a little time. Miss Markham came to her
there, begging her to go and speak to Percy. "His grief," she said, "is
quite uncontrollable. I have done all I can to comfort him. But nothing
I can say seems to touch him." Mrs. Mandeville went at once to Percy's
room. He had thrown himself undressed on his bed, and was sobbing
hysterically, as she entered the room.
"Percy, my dear boy, you must not grieve like this."
As soon as he was aware it was his mother beside him, he flung his arms
round her neck.
"Oh, Mother, I can never, never, be happy again if Carol dies. If he
had not been there with them, the bull would have tossed my little
sisters. Jane said he stood between them and the bull. He is the
bravest boy, and I--I--called him a--a--" He could not repeat the word
he had so lightly, thoughtlessly uttered a few hours previously.
"If only I could tell him I did not mean it, and ask him to forgive me,
Mother. Oh! won't he ever be able to speak to me again?"
"Dear Percy, I hope so. Sir Wilfrid Wynne is with him now, and
everything possible will be done for him. I am sure, darling, he would
not like you to grieve like this. He always has such loving thoughts of
others." The remembrance of all his gentleness and loving thought for
others was too much for Mrs. Mandeville. Clasping her boy closely to
her, she wept with him. Heaven was still to her a locality, and death
the gateway to it; and Carol had always seemed so very near to the
Kingdom of Heaven.
All the household awaited with cruel suspense the great man's verdict,
trusting to him, forgetful that human skill had failed the boy once
before in his hour of need, forgetful of that friend in Devonshire who
loved him as her own son. No message had been sent to her.