“Horrid bad, sor; shlapy, and it’s creeping up me legs. Ye’ll have to carry me or lave me behind.”
“Whatever can we do?” said Mr Braine.
“Perhaps exertion and the night air will revive him,” said the doctor. “I’ll give him something too.”
He hastily mixed a draught, which Tim drank gratefully, and then lay back with Frank supporting his head.
“How long will it be before the potion acts on the men?” said Mr Braine.
“Very few minutes before it begins, but of course not on all alike. Some one must steal down and watch.”
“I’ll go,” said Frank, and creeping down to the lower rooms—the sheds used by the women and Tim—he stood close to the door, and then by degrees from bush to bush, on and on, till in less than half an hour he was back with the expectant group.
“They are all sleeping heavily,” he said. “How is Tim?”
His father pointed to the divan, where the man lay apparently insensible, with Mr Greig bathing his head.
“It is all over,” said Braine, sadly; “we cannot leave the poor fellow.”