This consisted of four stout negroes bearing the litter, and of Colonel
Dick Churchill and Mr. Ned Hunter.

"Tut, tut!" cried Colonel Dick. "What's this? what's this? Damn this
place! My mare Nelly threw me here thirty years ago!--I was coming home
from a wedding. Senseless and cut across the head!--and I don't like the
way that arm's bent.--Ned Hunter, you take Big Jim's corner of the
litter for a minute. Now, Big Jim, you lift Mr. Rand.--So! we'll have
him at Fontenoy in a jiffy, and in bed in the blue room. Run ahead,
Unity, and tell Jacqueline and Mammy Chloe to make ready. His boy's
gone for Gilmer. Easy now, men! Yes, 'twas at this very spot my mare
Nelly threw me!--it was Maria Erskine's wedding."


The sun was low in the heavens when the good Samaritans and the
unconscious man arrived at the foot of the wide, white-pillared Fontenoy
porch. The arrival had many witnesses; for on hearing of the accident
the large party assembled for the dancing class had at once dropped all
employment and flocked to various coigns of vantage. A bevy of young
girls looked from one parlour window, and another framed Mr. Pincornet's
face and wig and flowered coat. In the hall and on the porch the elders
gathered, while on the broad porch steps young men in holiday dress
waited to see if they might be of help. Around the corner of the house
peered the house negroes, pleasurably excited by any catastrophe and any
procession, even that of a wounded man borne on a litter.

The cortège arrived. In the midst of much ejaculation, and accompanied
by a fire of directions from Colonel Dick, Lewis Rand was borne up the
steps and across the porch into the cool, wide hail. Here the litter was
met by Jacqueline Churchill. She came down the shadowy staircase in a