Leslie’s eyes opened quickly, and he gazed from one to the other.
“Better not let her see you till you are better,” said Uncle Luke, taking the injured man into their confidence.
A piteous sigh escaped from Leslie, and he closed his eyes tightly.
“Poor boy!” said Uncle Luke, “he must have had an ugly fall. Missed his way in the dark, I suppose. George, you’ll have to keep him here to-night.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said George Vine uneasily, for his ears were on the strain to catch his child’s step, and her absence troubled him.
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.”