“Now, then, I think we had better have Knatchbull. He must have had a nasty fall. Send your girl; or no, I’ll go myself.”
“No,” said Leslie feebly; “don’t go.”
“Ah: that’s better. You heard what I said?”
“Yes; what you said.”
It was a feeble whisper, and as the brothers bent over the injured man, they could see that he was gazing wildly at them with a face full of horror and despair.
“I’ll trot down and fetch Knatchbull,” whispered Uncle Luke.
“No.”
The negative came from Leslie, who was lying back with his eyes closed, and it was so decisive that the brothers paused.
At that moment Liza entered the room.
“She isn’t up-stairs, sir.—Ow!”