“Where is your mistress?” cried Vine.
“Miss Louise, sir? Isn’t she there?”
“No. Go up to her room and fetch her. Perhaps she is with Miss Vine.”
“I’ll go and see, sir,” said the girl wonderingly; and she ran up-stairs.
“Help me to get him on the sofa, George,” said Uncle Luke; and together they placed the injured man with his head resting on a cushion.
“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.