's surgeon, who jumped down from his
horse, and was soon bending over her basket exchanging whispers in the
lowest possible tones; but a surge among those in the rear drove Diccon
up so near that he was absolutely certain that they were speaking
French, as indeed he well knew that M. Gorion never could succeed in
making himself understood in English.

The boy, bred up in the perpetual caution and suspicion of Sheffield,
was eager to denounce one who he was sure was a conspirator; but he was
hemmed in among horses and men, so that he could not make his way out
or see what was passing, till suddenly there was a scattering to the
right and left, and a simultaneous shriek from the ladies in front.

When Diccon could see anything, his father was pressing forward to a
group round some one prostrate on the ground before the house, and
there were exclamations, "The poor young lady! The chirurgeon! To the
front, the Queen is asking for you, sir," and Cicely's horse with loose
bridle passed before his eyes.

"Let me through! let me through!" cried the boy; "it is my sister."

He threw his bridle to a groom, and, squeezing between horses and under
elbows, succeeded in seeing Cis lying on the ground with her eyes shut
and her head in his mother's lap, and the French surgeon bending over
her. She gave a cry when he touched her arm, and he said something in
his mixture of French and English, which Diccon could not hear. The
Queen stood close by, a good deal agitated, anxiously asking questions,
and throwing out her hands in her French fashion. Diccon, much
frightened, struggled on, but only reached the party just as his father
had gathered Cicely up in his arms to carry her upstairs. Diccon
followed as closely as he could, but blindly in the crowd in the
strange house, until he found himself in a long gallery, shut out,
among various others of both sexes. "Come, my masters and mistresses
all," said the voice of the seneschal, "you had best to your chambers,
there is naught for you to do here."

However, he allowed Diccon to remain leaning against the balustrade of
the stairs which led up outside the house, and in another minute his
father came out. "Ha, Diccon, that is well," said he. "No, thou canst
not enter. They are about to undress poor little Cis. Nay, it seemed
not to me that she was more hurt than thy mother could well have dealt
with, but the French surgeon would thrust in, and the Queen would have
it so. We