“Are you badly injured?” faltered Arden.
“My leg—I think my right leg is broken,” he faltered. “It is very painful. I cannot bear my weight on it. That is why I had to crawl along.”
“Did you fall?” asked Arden.
“Not exactly. I was struck by something—something attacked me as I was walking through the orchard. It was some great, black, rushing shape that threw itself upon me. I went down heavily—I could feel the bones of my leg snap. I—I must have lost consciousness—for a time, at least. When I came to, I found myself lying beneath a tree. I managed to get this far, and then the pain——”
“We heard you call for help,” said Sim.
“You heard me—up in your room?” His voice was querulous.
The girls did not care to go into particulars.
“We have sent someone to bring help,” said Arden, kneeling down beside the aged chaplain. “But can we do anything to ease you until help comes?”
“Rest yourself, Dr. Bordmust,” Sim begged. She sat down in the wet grass and lifted the tired white head into her lap.
“You—you are very kind, young ladies,” the chaplain murmured. “I shall see that——”