He was down on his knees directly, examining his patient, removing the bandage, and looking at the cut, the patient’s eyes, and carefully loosening all tight clothing.
“Poor fellow!—ah—yes—nasty cut—do him good. Hum! What fools people are; they told me he was killed.”
“Will he live, Mr Purley?” whispered Daisy, hoarsely.
“Ah, Daisy, you come back?” said the doctor. “Live? yes, of course he will. Touch of apoplexy; but we’ll bring him round.”
“Oh, mother, mother!” moaned Daisy; “I thought I’d killed him;” and she threw herself, sobbing, into her mother’s arms.
“Come, come, that won’t do,” exclaimed the doctor. “You two must help me. Selwood, you’ll do me a good turn by going, and taking all the people with you. We want fresh air.”
The vicar nodded, and a few words from him, coupled with the information that Banks was not seriously hurt and would soon recover, sufficed to send the little crowd away.
They followed him, though at a distance, Tom Podmore and Harry acting as his rearguard, as he made as if to go straight to the House.
He had to pass the Bull, though; and, seeing a group of people there, he made his way through them to where Robinson, the landlord, was standing discussing the events of the evening.
“Robinson,” said the vicar, aloud, and his words were listened to eagerly, “I’m afraid this atrocious outrage was hatched here in your house.”