"Why the deuce didn't you come home and send some one out to this poor fellow? I've been hunting for you for hours."
"And I have been waiting for hours," was the quiet reply. "I could not leave him; he begged me not to do so. He was in terrible suffering. Now he's unconscious, but I was able to give him some brandy, and he is living still. Listen to his breathing!"
She was bending over him again. Her whole soul was with the poor old man. She seemed indifferent to herself or to Justin. Then James came up. But it was Justin who slipped out of his heavy coat, and lifting the old man into it, used it as a stretcher, James taking one end of it, and he the other.
"How far are we from his house?"
"A goodish way," said James. "We had best carry him to th' house and let my wife tend to him."
"Yes," assented Anstice at once. "His sister is too ill to nurse him. She wants a nurse herself. We will go to Hockerdale."
They started. Victory, the sheep-dog, after a little growling at Hercules, followed the procession. Anstice seemed to have difficulty in keeping up with them. More than once Justin stopped, and then said in softened tone:
"You seem tired. Take hold of my arm."
"Oh no, you want all your strength to carry him over this rough ground. Look! The mist is rolling away, and the moon's coming out! Thank God!"
It was indeed rolling away like great clouds from their feet. It seemed a long time before they reached Hockerdale, but they were there at last, and Mrs. James rose to the occasion. The old man was put in her best bed in the big spare room. A fire was lighted and hot bottles applied to his feet. A farm lad was sent off for the nearest doctor.