All at once Leslie made an effort to sit up, but a giddy sensation overcame him, and he sank back, staring at them wildly.
“Don’t be alarmed,” said George Vine kindly. “You are faint. That’s better.”
Leslie lay still for a few moments, and then made a fresh effort to sit up. This time it was with more success.
“Give him a little more brandy,” whispered Uncle Luke.
“No; he is feverish, and it may do harm. Yes,” he said to Leslie, as the injured man grasped his arm, “you want to tell us how you fell down.”
“No,” said Leslie quickly, but in a faint voice, “I did not fall. It was in the struggle.”
“Struggle?” cried Uncle Luke. “Were you attacked?”
Leslie nodded quickly.
“Where? Along the road?”
“No,” said Leslie hoarsely; “here.”