was, Mr. Francis, and a splendid man--until he was
six-and-twenty.

"I can see him now, as he started that morning. It was in June. I can
see him now as clearly as I saw him then, riding out of the stable
yard. I was watching him from my window. His horse was rearing and
plunging, but he never minded that, for he was a beautiful rider. Miss
Philippa, she was walking beside him, leading her great dog--a huge
brute it was, very wild, and difficult to hold, and I think Mr. Francis
must have known his horse was shy of it, for I heard him call to her!
'If you're coming down to the jumps, darling, don't bring the dog.
This animal is quite excited enough already.' I heard her answer him:
'Oh, that's all right!' Quite carelessly she spoke--and then they
passed out of sight. The last time I saw him ride." The old woman's
voice faltered and broke. "Half-an-hour later they carried him
in--that awful day!"

"What had happened?" asked Philippa gently, as the speaker paused.

"It was all through the dog. Mr. Francis had taken his horse once
round the jumps--he always schooled his horses down there in the lower
meadow--and then he came round the second time. He passed close to
where Miss Philippa was standing, and her dog was so wild at the horse
galloping past that it broke away from her, and tore like a mad thing
after him. It overtook him just as he reached a jump. Some of the
stablemen were watching from the top of the field, but they couldn't
see exactly what happened. Some said the dog leaped right up at the
horse, others that it merely frightened it and caused it to swerve, but
in a moment they were on the ground, with Mr. Francis lying half under
the horse.

"Before the men could reach the place the animal was up, but in its
struggles it had kicked him terribly about the head. His body was not
hurt. Dr. Gale soon came, and his father, the old doctor, too, and
they sent for great men from London, but they all thought that he must
die. My poor lady! I shall never forget her awful anxiety. He was
just all the world to her, was Mr. Francis. Night after night she and
I would sit outside his room, holding each other's hands like two
children afraid of the dark. He had splendid nurses, I will say that,
but they wouldn't have us in his room. I said it was cruel, but my
lady said No. She said it was not a time to consider any one but him
and what was good for him. She was a wonderfully brave lady, and wise