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.