The girl had caught sight of Leslie’s ghastly face, and she uttered an excited howl, and thrust her fingers into her ears.
Leslie looked up at George Vine vacantly for a moment, and then light seemed to come to his clouded brain, and his lips moved.
“Say it again,” said Vine, bending over him.
“Send—her—away,” whispered the injured man.
“Yes, of course. Liza, go and wait—no; get a basin of water, sponge, and towel, and bring them when I ring.”
The girl looked at him wildly, but she had not heard his words; and Uncle Luke put an end to the difficulty by taking her arm and leading her into the hall.
“Go and get sponge and basin. Mr Leslie has fallen and hurt himself. Now, don’t be stupid. You needn’t cry.”
The girl snatched her arm away and ran through the baize door.
“Just like a woman!” muttered Uncle Luke as he went back; “no use when she’s wanted. Well, how is he?”
Leslie heard the whisper, and turned his eyes upon him with a look of recognition.