"Brain fever, sir," he said cheerfully. "Brain fever. You must get some ice and have some beef tea made as soon as possible. He is in a very bad way—curious, too; he looks like a cross between a ticket of leave man and a gentleman. Tramp, you say? That would not prevent his being either. You cannot disturb him—don't be afraid. He hears nothing—is off, the Lord knows where, raving delirious. Must look to his scratches though—dangerous—inflammation. Do you mind telling me what happened—how long he has been here?"
The squire in a few words informed Doctor Longstreet of the attack made upon him in the park. The doctor looked at his watch.
"Only two hours and a half since," he remarked. "It is just midnight now, very good—the man must have been in a fever all day—yesterday, too, perhaps. He is not badly hurt by the dog—like to see that dog, if you don't mind—the fright most likely sent him into delirium. You have nothing to accuse yourself of, Mr. Juxon: it was certainly not your fault. Even if the dog had not bitten him, he would most likely have been in his present state by this time. Would you mind sending for some ice at once? Thank you. It was very lucky for the fellow that he attacked you just when he did—secured him the chance of being well taken care of. If he had gone off like this in the park he would have been dead before morning."
The squire rang and sent for the ice the doctor demanded.
"Do you think he will live?" he asked nervously.
"I don't know," answered Doctor Longstreet, frankly. "Nobody can tell. He is very much exhausted—may live two or three days in this state and then die or go to sleep and get well—may die in the morning—often do—cannot say. With a great deal of care, I think he has a chance."
"I am very anxious to save him," said the squire, looking hard at the physician.
"Very good of you, I am sure," replied Doctor Longstreet, cheerfully. "It is not everybody who would take so much trouble for a tramp. Of course if he dies people will say your dog killed him; but I will sign a paper to the effect that it is not true. If he had left you and your dog alone, he would have been dead in the morning to an absolute certainty."
"How very extraordinary!" exclaimed the squire, suddenly realising that instead of causing the man's death Stamboul had perhaps saved his life.
"It was certainly very odd that he should have chosen the best moment for assaulting you," continued the doctor. "It is quite possible that even then he was under some delusion—took you for somebody else—some old enemy. People do queer things in a brain fever. By the bye has he said anything intelligible since he has been here?"