“No, certainly not yet,” replied Leigh; and he went back into the hall.
“I say,” said Claud, in a voice full of awe, “I’m jolly glad you’ve come. He ain’t dying, is he?”
For answer Leigh went down on one knee, and made a fresh examination.
“No,” he said at last; “but he is very bad. I cannot help carry him, but he must be got into one of the rooms.”
“Fetch that old girl out, and we’ll carry him,” said Claud; and after a moment or two’s thought Leigh went to the library, stood for a while examining his patient there, and then signed to Becky and her mother to follow him.
Under his directions a blanket was brought, passed under the injured man, and then each took a corner, and he was borne into the dining-room and laid upon a couch.
“I don’t like to call in police, or a strange surgeon,” Leigh whispered to Claud. “We do not want this affair to become public.”
“By George, no!” said Claud, hastily.
“Then you must help me. I can do what is necessary; and these women can nurse him.”
“But I can’t help you,” protested the young man. “If it was a horse I could do something. Don’t understand men.”