Dixon eyed him calmly.  He had by this time summoned to his aid the semi-mystical courage given him occasionally by his evangelical faith.  If it was the Lord’s will that such a thing should happen, why it was the Lord’s will; and it was no use whatever for Mr. Melrose or any one else to kick against the pricks.  So with much teasing deliberation, and constantly interrupted by his angry master, he told the story of the accident on the evening before, of Doctor Undershaw’s appearance on the scene, and of the storming of the Tower.

“Well, of all the presuming rascals!” said Melrose with slow fury, under his breath, when the tale was done.  “But we’ll be even with him!  Send a man from the farm, at once, to the cottage hospital at Whitebeck.  They’ve got an ambulance—­I commission it.  It’s a hospital case.  They shall see to it.  Be quick!  March!—­do you hear?—­I intended to quit of them—­bag and baggage!”

Dixon did not move.

“Doctor said if we were to move un now, it ’ud be manslaughter,” he said stolidly, “an’ he’d have us ’op.”

“Oh, he would, would he!” roared Melrose, “I’ll see to that.  Go along, and do what you’re told.  D——­n it! am I not to be obeyed, sir?”

Wherewith he hurried toward the house.  Dixon looked after him, shook his head, and instead of going toward the farm, quietly retreated round the farther corner of the house to the kitchen.  He was the only person at the Tower who had ever dared to cross Melrose.  He attempted it but rarely; but when he did, Melrose was each time freshly amazed to discover that, in becoming his factotum, Dixon had not altogether ceased to be a man.

Melrose entered the house by the front door.  As he walked into the hall, making not the slightest effort to moderate the noise of his approach, another woman—­also in white cap and apron—­ran toward him, with quick noiseless steps from the corridor, her finger on her lip.

“Please, sir!—­it is most important for the patient that the house should be absolutely quiet.”

“I tell you the house is mine!” said Melrose, positively stamping.  “What business have you—­or the other one—­to give orders in it?  I’ll turn you all out!—­you shall march, I tell you!”

The nurse—­an older woman than the first who had spoken to him outside—­drew back with dignity.

“I am sorry if I offended you, sir.  I was summoned from Carlisle this morning as night nurse to an urgent case.  I have been helping the other nurse all day, for Mr. Faversham has wanted a great deal of attention.  I am now just going on duty, while the day nurse takes some rest.”

“Show me where he is,” said Melrose peremptorily.  “I wish to see him.”

The nurse hesitated.  But if this was really the master of the house, it was difficult to ignore him entirely.  She looked at his feet.

“You’ll come in quietly, sir?  I am afraid—­your boots—­”

“Oh, go on!  Order me about!  What’s wrong with my boots?” The pale grin was meant for sarcasm.