“Off is it?” Mr Merriot was interested. “Tut, tut! And the lady in it, belike?”
The landlord’s jaw dropped. “Ay, that would be it! But what’s come to the gentleman, sir? Good lord, sir, never say — ”
“The poor gentleman!” said Miss Merriot, holding a wet napkin to Mr. Markham’s brow. “’Twas the drink turned the head on his shoulders, I dare swear. An accident, host. I believe he won’t die of it.”
“A warning to all abductors,” said Mr Merriot piously.
A gleam of understanding shot into the landlord’s eyes. “Sir, he’ll be raving mad when he comes to.”
“A warning to you, good fellow, not to be by,” said Mr Merriot.
There was significance in Mr Merriot’s voice. It occurred to mine host that the less he knew of the matter the better it might be for himself, on all sides. He went out discreetly what time Mr Markham gave vent to a faint groan.
Mr Markham came slowly back to consciousness, and opened heavy eyes. He did not at once remember much, but he was aware of a swollen jaw-bone which hurt him. A cool hand was placed on his brow, and something wet was laid on his sore chin. He rolled his eyes upwards, groaning, and saw a fair face bent over him, framed in golden ringlets. He stared up at it, trying to collect his bemused wits, and vaguely it seemed to him that he had seen that face before, with its fine, rather ironical blue eyes, and its curiously square chin. He blinked, and frowned in the effort to pull himself together, and saw the delicate mouth smile.
“Thank God you are better!” came a cooing voice. “I have been in an agony! Dear sir, pray lie still; ’twas a cruel blow, and oh the misunderstanding! Peter, a glass of wine for the gentleman! There, sir, let me but raise your head.”
Mr Markham allowed it, perforce, and sipped at the wine held to his lips. Some of the mists were clearing from his brain. He raised himself on his elbow, and looked round.