“Say nowt to no one,” Luke said as he started. “Till t' master cooms round there ain't no saying what he'd loike done. Maybe he won't have nowt said aboot it.”
The water was already hot when the party reached the cottage; the blood was carefully washed off Ned's head, and a great swelling with an ugly gash running across was shown. Cold water was dashed in his face, and with a gasp he opened his eyes.
“It be all roight, Maister Ned,” Luke said soothingly; “it be all over now, and you be among vriends. Ye've had an ugly one on the back o' thy head, but I dowt thou wilt do rarely now.”
Ned looked round vaguely, then a look of intelligence came into his face.
“Where is Bill?” he asked.
“He be hurted sorely, but oi think it be only loss o' blood, and he will coom round again; best lie still a few minutes, maister, thou wilt feel better then; Polly, she be tending Bill.”
In a few minutes Ned was able to sit up; a drink of cold brandy and water further restored him. He went to the bed on which Bill had been placed.
“He's not dead?” he asked with a gasp, as he saw the white face enveloped in bandages.
“No, surelie,” Luke replied cheerfully; “he be a long way from dead yet, oi hoape, though he be badly cut about.”
“Have you sent for the doctor?” Ned asked.