This was the noise that had aroused him.
Conceiving that he had to do with some urgent obstetrical case, he reached for bedgown and slippers, to go below.

On the landing he almost collided with Mrs.Barlow, new-risen and unsightly, in a state of panic.
He quieted her cluckings with a word of reassurance, and went himself to open.
There in slanting golden light of the new-risen sun stood a breathless, wild-eyed man and a steaming horse.

Smothered in dust and grime, his clothes in disarray, the left sleeve of his doublet hanging in rags, this young man opened his lips to speak, yet for a long moment remained speechless.
In that moment Mr.Blood recognized him for the young shipmaster, Jeremiah Pitt, the nephew of the maiden ladies opposite, one who had been drawn by the general enthusiasm into the vortex of that rebellion.
The street was rousing, awakened by the sailor's noisy advent; doors were opening, and lattices were being unlatched for the protrusion of anxious, inquisitive heads.
"Take your time, now," said Mr.Blood.

"I never knew speed made by overhaste." But the wild-eyed lad paid no heed to the admonition.

He plunged, headlong, into speech, gasping, breathless.
"It is Lord Gildoy," he panted.