“I wish you would stable the horse and say naught about it in the village, Chadd, as likely as not the poor fellow will be haled to prison if the Canon Frome folk hear of this,” said Dr. Coke.
“I’d do aught that would go against them” said the farmer, thinking wrathfully of the looting and plundering he had had to endure.
“I will give help to the officer, then, and you will put up the horse,” said the Vicar. “Come, children, show us where this poor Puritan lies.”
Hilary, with a horrible presentiment of coming sorrow, hastened across the orchard, and, with a low cry, knelt down on the grass beside the wounded man.
“Uncle,” she said, looking up with wild eyes, “see who it is!”
“Poor boy! poor boy!” said the Vicar, with deep concern. “What a change since yesterday, when he stood bold and strong at the head of his soldiers. He has swooned. Help me, dear, to remove his armour.”
Hilary obeyed, and, giving the helmet to Nan and Meg, asked them to fetch water from the brook. The Vicar, who had some little knowledge of surgery, managed, for the time, to staunch the wounds, and, presently, feeling a woman’s soft fingers at his throat unfastening his gorget, Gabriel regained consciousness, and lay watching the sweet, grave face which bent over him.
“Hilary!” he said, faintly. “Thank God! Now I can die in peace!”
“No, no,” she said, smoothing back the hair from his forehead. “You must live, Gabriel, I—we—cannot spare you. Uncle Coke is half a leech, he will bind up your wounds.”
The Vicar gave a rueful smile. “I may be half a leech, but I’m not a whole conjuror, and can’t make a couple of handkerchiefs into bandages that will serve. No, Hilary, you must get me some linen from Mrs. Chadd. Here come the children with the water; take them with you.”