Her flow of love to this dear lady felt the slicing of a cut; was half revulsion, half worship; uttermost worship in estrangement, with the further throbbing of her pulses.
The cottage door was pushed open for Lord Fleetwood and Howell Edwards, whom his master had prepared to stand against immediate operations.

A mounted messenger had been despatched.

But it was true, the doctor might not be at home.

Assuming it to be a bite of rabies, minutes lost meant the terrible: Edwards bowed his head to that.

On the other hand, he foresaw the closest of personal reasons for hesitating to be in agreement with the lady wholly.