“Yes,” said the Doctor, “when the shot had entered in. Major, it was a gun-shot wound, and the marks of the dog’s teeth are in his leg. I’ll swear to that.”
“Liar and hound,” cried the Major, dashing at him, but he was too late, for, nerving himself for one blow, Clive Reed threw himself upon the ruffian, and the next moment he lay quivering on the ground, with the young man’s foot upon his chest.
“Dinah, my child,” cried the Major reproachfully, “why was I not told all this?”
“Because I was a woman, and shame closed my lips,” she said softly. “Take me home, father. Silence has been my only sin.”
“One word before you rise, my good fellow,” said Doctor Praed, as he drew his patient from where Sturgess lay; “whether the law deals with you or no is not my affair; but I, as a doctor, tell you this: mad or only enraged there’s sometimes a deadly poison in the tooth of a dog. You have had a long taste of delirium from that gun-shot wound. Mind what you’re about, or I wouldn’t give sixpence for your life; and if you’re bad again you may die before I’ll run a step to save you. Here, Jessop. Those of a feather flock together; take this bird of prey back to his cage. You’re not wanted here.”
He stood watching as Sturgess rose and staggered away like a drunken man, while Jessop, after a vain effort to speak, walked rapidly off in turn.
Then the Doctor turned to where the Major stood with Dinah in his arms, her face buried in his breast.
“You will not fear to be alone, Major?” he said quietly.
“Afraid, sir,” said the Major, with an angry look. “No.”
“Then I will leave you now, and take my patient back to town. Good day, my dear sir, and God bless you. I must come and see you again. Dinah, an old man wants to say good-bye.”