"You are staying in the village?" he said, looking somewhat unfavourably at Gray and his companions.
"We're not," said Gray. "But we shall stay now to hear how he gets on."
"Very well," said the clergyman. "I shall be pleased to give you information of his progress. Meanwhile, you need not consult a doctor. I think I can manage the case."
The vicar was one of those men with a smattering of medical knowledge, insufficient to enable him to cure anybody, but sufficient to give him a wild anxiety to want to. He shut the door softly on the three men and returned to the library.
"Strange!" he muttered. "I can find no symptoms of this man having had a heavy blow, and the state of unconsciousness is different from the ordinary."
"Perhaps it's shock, pa," said his daughter, who had ventured to take a look at George.
"True. Very likely. Perhaps you are right, my dear."
He felt George's pulse and examined the scratch on his forehead, which was clearly but a trivial hurt.
"Perhaps you are right, my dear. But come along. I'll get you to go down to the town for me and get a prescription made up."
As they left the library George's right eyelid flickered slightly, as their footsteps echoed down the passage the lid began to open, and by the time all sound of them had ceased it was lifted to its fullest extent. The left eyelid followed the right one, and George Early lay with both eyes open. Then his head moved slowly, and his eyes having cautiously surveyed the room, his features broke into a broad smile.