'I think so,' was the answer; 'the greatest danger is loss of blood. He has been bleeding like a bull.'
'Oh, you must pull him through it, doctor,' said the Count. He slipped some gold into the hand of the woman who owned the cottage. 'Let him have everything the doctor orders, and you'll do all you can, I know. I'll be down to-morrow.'
He looked towards the girl who was crouching at the head of the bed as though he would have spoken to her, but seemed to think better of it, and rejoined Hatfield outside.
'I think he'll be all right,' he said, holding his hand out. 'Good-bye, Hatfield; don't forget what I said. Drop me a line to the Post Office, Charing Cross, London, to say where you are; and do let me beg of you, if it's only for your wife's sake, not to get mixed up in any more of this sort of thing. It must be on a much bigger scale before it'll be successful, my boy,' he ended, resuming his most frivolous manner, and turning away.
'I think I deserve a cigar,' he said to himself, as he started on the long return walk, by the road this time. And he lighted one accordingly.
About a quarter of a mile from Thornsett he met Roland Ferrier, who was walking quickly along, Gates by his side.
'Where have you come from?' the former asked abruptly. 'Here's Gates tells me the men are burning the mill, and I don't know what beside.'
'Oh, no, no,' the Count answered lightly; 'there's been a little orating and so forth, in which I have borne a distinguished part, but it's all over now. They wound up with a hymn or two, and went home to their wives. Come along back. I'll tell you all about it when we get in,' and, catching an arm of each, he wheeled them round and marched them back to Thornsett Edge.