"How did Mr.Gray get him out ?" "Ay! there it is, you see.

Why the old gentleman (I daren't say Devil in Lady Ludlow's house) is not so black as he is painted; and Mr.Gray must have a deal of good in him, as I say at times; and then at others, when he has gone against me, I can't bear him, and think hanging too good for him.

But he lifted the poor lad, as if he had been a baby, I suppose, and carried him up the great ledges that were formerly used for steps; and laid him soft and easy on the wayside grass, and ran home and got help and a door, and had him carried to his house, and laid on his bed; and then somehow, for the first time either he or any one else perceived it, he himself was all over blood--his own blood--he had broken a blood- vessel; and there he lies in the little dressing-room, as white and as still as if he were dead; and the little imp in Mr.Gray's own bed, sound asleep, now his leg is set, just as if linen sheets and a feather bed were his native element, as one may say.

Really, now he is doing so well, I've no patience with him, lying there where Mr.Gray ought to be.
It is just what my lady always prophesied would come to pass, if there was any confusion of ranks." "Poor Mr.Gray!" said I, thinking of his flushed face, and his feverish, restless ways, when he had been calling on my lady not an hour before his exertions on Harry's behalf.

And I told Miss Galindo how ill I had thought him.
"Yes," said she.