"
Colonel Holliday now hurried out into the garden, just as Sir
William Brownlow, accompanied by his son's friend, rushed out of
the house, followed by some lackeys with scared faces.
Not a word was spoken as they ran to the spot where young Brownlow
was lying.
Sir William and Colonel Holliday both knelt beside him, and the
latter put his finger to his pulse.
"He is not dead," he said, after a moment. "Ralph, saddle a horse,
and ride with all speed to Derby for a doctor."
"Ay," Sir William said, "and tell the chief magistrate that he is
wanted here, with one of his constables, for that murder has been
done."
"You will do nothing of the sort," Colonel Holliday said.
"Sir William Brownlow, I make every excuse for you in your grief,
but even from you I will permit no such word to be used. Your son
has been wounded in fair fight, and whether he dies or not, alters
the circumstances no whit. My grandson found him engaged in
offering a gross insult to a young lady in the garden of my house.
He did what I should have done had I so found him--he knocked him
down. They fought, and your son was worsted. I think, sir, that for
the credit of your house you had best be quiet over the matter.
"Hush, sir," he went on sternly, seeing that the baronet was about
to answer furiously. "I am an old man, but I will put up with
bluster from no man."
Colonel Holliday's repute as a swordsman was well known, and Sir
William Brownlow swallowed his passion in silence.
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