Her mother used to reckon her next to a saint, as she sat
learning her hymns. I've scoffed and jeered at 'em, and sent the boys to
the bad, and threatened the squire. I did not kill him, though; and yet,
what do you think, she, the squire's daughter, your good lady, bid _God
bless me_, and let me touch her hand; why, ever since I've kinder felt
that if _she_ could pardon, God might."

"He _will_ pardon the chief of sinners, for Christ's sake," said
Gilbert.

The man's wound was bleeding profusely, and he soon became confused and
wandering; and his face assumed a livid hue as Gilbert bent over him.

"My wife will not forget that you saved my life," he said; "and I know
if it is possible she will come and see you, and bring your daughter
with her."

"He is nearly unconscious," said the surgeon. "Dear me! sir, what a time
this is for Bristol. This is the sixth case brought in since noon. God
knows where the riots will end! You were sworn in as a special
constable, I suppose?"

"Yes, but to little purpose. Resistance is useless, unless well
organised."

"That's true enough; but there is no head, that's the mischief of it; no
head anywhere. Do you live in Bristol, sir?"

"In Great George Street; I am returning there now. You will look after
this man?"

"Yes; but he won't get over it. A bad subject--a very bad subject. He is
very prostrate," the surgeon continued, laying a professional finger on
the great muscular wrist; "his hours are numbered. That's a bad blow on
your forehead, sir; let me put a bandage on; and how are you getting
home?"

"As I came, I suppose. There seems a lull in the uproar now, and I shall
be able to get back by Trinity Street and up by Brandon Hill."

Gilbert submitted to the bandage, and thankfully drank a reviving
draught, which the surgeon gave him, and then he turned his face
homewards.

He was dizzy and bewildered, and did not feel as if he could again face
the crowd, so he reached home by a circuitous road, entering Great
George Street from the upper end.

It was nearly one o'clock before he stood by his own door, and he found
two of his friends, who had served with him as special constables,
coming out. They had left Queen's Square empty, they said, and not a
rioter was to be seen there, and the troops had returned to their
quarters.

Joyce, hearing her husband's voice, came downstairs, and not a moment
too soon. Thoroughly exhausted, and suffering from the blow on his head,