The next moment abruptly the grey eyes opened and gazed full at Avery with a wide, glassy stare.
"What the—what the—" stammered Sir Beverley, and broke off with a hard gasp.
Avery sought to raise him higher, but his weight was too much for her even with Ronald assisting.
"Find my—flask!" jerked out Sir Beverley, with panting breath.
Ronald began to search in his pockets and finally drew it forth. He opened it and gave it to Avery who held it to the twitching lips.
Sir Beverley drank and closed his eyes. "I shall be—better soon," he said, in a choked whisper.
Avery waited, supporting him as strongly as she could, listening to the short laboured breathing with deep foreboding.
"Couldn't I run down to the Abbey for help?" suggested Julian, who had succeeded at length in tying the chafing animal to a tree.
Avery considered. "I don't know. How far is it?"
"Not more than a mile. P'r'aps I should find Piers there. I'm sure I'd better go," the boy urged, with his eyes on the deathly face.