“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.”
“Here!” exclaimed the brothers in a breath; and then they exchanged glances, each silently saying to the other, “The poor fellow is wandering.”
“There,” said Leslie, “I can think clearly now. It all seemed like a dream. You must know, Mr Vine. I must tell you,” he added piteously. “Mr Vine, what do you propose doing?”
“Hush!” said George Vine, laying his hand upon the young man’s shoulder, “you are ill and excited now. Don’t talk at present. Wait a little while.”
“Wait?” cried Leslie, growing more excited. “You do not know what you are saying. How long have I been lying here? What time is it?”
“About nine,” said Vine kindly. “Come, come, lie back for a few moments. We’ll get some cold water, and bathe your temples.”