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He saw the master, panting, bleeding, but exultant, seize Dr. Nash's hands in his own. He saw Sir Charles smile and extend his box of richly scented snuff to Colonel Ludwell, and the women leaving their corner of refuge with hysterical laughter and tears; saw Betty Carrington in her father's arms, and Mistress Lettice being helped across a heap of dead by Captain Laramore.
A bag it was and when they raced to the field in which it fell they discovered that it was improvised, roughly sewn and weighted with sand. The superintendent read the label and frowned. "'To the Driver of Ambulance B. T. 9743, 131st General Hospital' this is evidently for you, Miss Laramore." "For me, Mrs. Crane?" Vera Laramore came forward, a picture of astonishment and took the bag.
"If not, I fear that Captain Laramore will very shortly make his last voyage." "Egad! that will never do!" cried the Colonel, dropping upon his knees beside the wounded man. "A bad thrust! Charles, thou art the very devil!" "Shall I ride for the doctor?" cried Mr. Peyton. "No. Anthony Nash is at the house. Run, lad, and fetch him. He is surgeon as well as divine." Mr.
Along a muddy road came an ambulance. It was moving slowly, zigzagging from side to side to avoid the shell holes and the subsidences which the collapse of ancient trenches on each side of the road had caused. It was a secondary or even a tertiary road, represented on the map by a spidery line, and was taken by driver Vera Laramore because there was no better.
"'Vera Laramore," repeated Tam. "A've no doot she's Scottish." He trod air that week, literally and figuratively, for the work was heavy. The high winds which had kept the British squadrons to the ground, petered out to gentle breezes, and the air was alive with craft. Bombing raid, photographic reconnaissance and long-distance scouting kept the airmen busy.
"At your service, Major," cried the Captain, a dashing, black-a-vised personage, with large gold rings in his ears, a plume a yard long in his castor, and a general Drawcansir air. "Will Captain Laramore fight?" inquired Sir Charles. "I have had the honor of changing the date for sailing for several gentlemen of his profession."
The toast was drunk with fervor, and the party broke up. The Governor, with Colonel Ludlow and Captain Laramore, was to sleep at Verney Manor, and Mistress Betty Carrington was left by her father to bear Patricia company for a day or two. One by one the remainder of the company rode or sailed away, those who had an even keel beneath them being in much better case than their brethren on horseback.
"Damnation!" he cried, crushing the paper in his hand. Laramore started up with a roar of "My ship!" and then broke into a torrent of oaths. Mistress Lettice's screams filled the room until her brother roughly silenced her by clapping his hand over her mouth. "By the Lord Harry, Lettice, I will throw you out to them if you do not hush! Gentlemen, in God's name, what are we to do?"
He gave the pilot a grip which would have crushed a hand of ordinary muscularity. "A've run up against the young lady in ma travels," said Tam solemnly. Laramore laughed. "I saw her for a moment to-day and she asked me to remind you of your appointment." "An appointment with a lady?
"Everything is in train," he told them, "and all quiet upon the plantations in this shire at least. I believe the danger past. God be thanked!" Upon a settle piled with cushions lay Captain Laramore, with a bandaged shoulder, a long pipe between his teeth, and at his elbow a tankard of sack and an elderly Hebe in the person of Mistress Lettice Verney.
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