In a handsome room, where the furniture suggested old-fashioned comfort rather than modern elegance, two ladies sat at a well-spread breakfast table. Mr. Giles, dressed with meticulous care in a full suit of black, was attending to them. He had taken his position halfway between the sideboard and the table. Standing at his full height, with his head tilted slightly to one side and his right hand tucked into his waistcoat, he looked like a man who was very pleased with his own importance. In his left hand, he held a small silver tray, looking every bit the proud and loyal servant.
Of the two ladies, one was elderly; however, the high-backed oak chair in which she sat was no more upright than she was. She was dressed with the utmost precision in a style that combined old-fashioned garments with a few modern touches. This mixture did not look strange; rather, it gave her a stately and pleasant appearance. She sat with her hands folded on the table, her eyes—which had lost none of their brightness despite her age—fixed attentively on her young companion.
The younger lady was in the lovely bloom of early adulthood. She was at that age when, if angels ever take human form for some divine purpose, one might imagine them looking exactly like her.
She was not yet seventeen. She was so slight and delicate, so gentle and pure, that she seemed almost too beautiful for this rough world. The intelligence that shone in her deep blue eyes and her noble expression seemed far beyond her years. Yet, her face was constantly changing with sweetness and good humor, and her cheerful, happy smile seemed perfectly suited for the peace and warmth of a family fireside.
She was busy with the small tasks of the breakfast table. Raising her eyes and seeing the older lady watching her, she playfully pushed back her hair and looked up with such genuine affection that any observer would have been moved by her innocence.
“And you say Brittles has been gone for over an hour?” the old lady asked after a short silence.
“An hour and twelve minutes, ma’am,” Mr. Giles replied, checking a silver watch that hung from a black ribbon.
“He is always slow,” the old lady remarked.
“Brittles has always been a slow boy, ma’am,” the servant replied. Considering that Brittles had been a “slow boy” for over thirty years, there seemed to be very little hope of him ever becoming a fast one.
“He seems to be getting worse instead of better,” said the elderly lady.
“It is quite inexcusable if he has stopped to play with other boys on the way,” the young lady added with a smile.
Mr. Giles was considering whether it would be appropriate for him to offer a respectful smile in return when a carriage drove up to the garden gate. A fat gentleman jumped out and ran straight to the door. Entering the house with surprising speed, he burst into the room so suddenly that he nearly knocked over both Mr. Giles and the breakfast table.
“I have never heard of such a thing!” the fat gentleman exclaimed. “My dear Mrs. Maylie—bless my soul—and in the middle of the night, too! I never heard of such a thing!”
After expressing his shock, the gentleman shook hands with both ladies, pulled up a chair, and asked how they were feeling.
“You ought to be dead from the fright—positively dead!” he cried. “Why didn’t you send for me immediately? My man would have been here in a minute, and so would I. My assistant would have been delighted to help, as would anyone under such circumstances. Dear me! So unexpected! And in the silence of the night!”
The doctor seemed particularly disturbed by the fact that the robbery had been unexpected and had occurred at night, as if it were the standard custom for burglars to make appointments by mail and conduct their business at noon.
“And you, Miss Rose,” the doctor said, turning to the young lady, “I—”
“Oh, I am quite fine,” Rose interrupted him gently. “But there is a poor creature upstairs whom my aunt wishes you to see.”
“Ah, of course,” the doctor replied. “I was told that was your handiwork, Giles.”
Mr. Giles, who had been nervously adjusting the teacups, turned bright red and admitted that he had had that honor.
“Honor, is it?” the doctor teased. “Well, I’m not sure. Perhaps it is just as honorable to hit a thief in a kitchen as it is to face an opponent in a duel. Just imagine he fired into the air and that you’ve fought a brave battle, Giles.”
Mr. Giles felt that this light-hearted treatment of the event was an attempt to diminish his glory. He replied respectfully that it was not his place to judge such things, but he suspected the matter was no joke to the person he had shot.
“That is true!” the doctor admitted. “Where is he? Show me the way. I’ll speak with you again when I come down, Mrs. Maylie. So, that’s the little window he climbed through? I wouldn't have believed it!”
Talking all the way, he followed Mr. Giles upstairs. While they are climbing, the reader should know that Mr. Losberne was a local surgeon known for miles around. He had grown fat more from his good-natured personality than from overeating. He was as kind, hearty, and eccentric an old bachelor as one could ever hope to find.
The doctor was gone much longer than the ladies had expected. A large medical box was brought in from his carriage, the bedroom bell rang frequently, and the servants ran up and down the stairs constantly. From these signs, everyone concluded that something important was happening. At last, he returned. When asked about his patient, he looked very mysterious and closed the door carefully behind him.
“This is a very extraordinary situation, Mrs. Maylie,” the doctor said, standing with his back against the door as if to keep it shut.
“I hope he is not in danger?” the old lady asked anxiously.
“Well, that wouldn’t be extraordinary given the circumstances,” the doctor replied, “though I don’t believe his life is at risk. Have you actually seen the thief?”
“No,” the lady replied.
“Nor heard anything about him?”
“Nothing.”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” Mr. Giles interrupted, “but I was about to tell you more about him just as Doctor Losberne arrived.”
The truth was that Mr. Giles had not been able to bring himself to admit that he had only shot a young boy. He had received so much praise for his bravery that he couldn't help enjoying his reputation for a few more minutes before telling the truth.
“Rose wanted to see the person,” Mrs. Maylie said, “but I wouldn’t allow it.”
“Hmm,” the doctor remarked. “There is nothing particularly terrifying about his appearance. Would you have any objection to seeing him while I am present?”
“If it is necessary, then certainly not,” the old lady replied.
“Then I believe it is necessary,” said the doctor. “In fact, I am certain you would deeply regret it later if you didn't see him now. He is perfectly quiet and comfortable. Come with me—Miss Rose, will you join us? There is absolutely nothing to fear, I give you my word of honor!”