"Yes, oh, yes—only tell me how."
"If you could bind this up—have you anything—"
"Yes, oh, yes—"
He used his left hand entirely; it was the right arm that had received the full blow of some sharp instrument. "Just tear away the shirt—that's right—"
She did as he bade her. She took her handkerchief and bound the arm tightly above the wound, twisting it with one of her shell hairpins. She slipped off her white petticoat, stripped it, and under his directions bandaged the arm firmly.
He spoke to her then as if she were a personality and not an instrument.
"Aileen, it's all up with me if I am found here—if I don't get out of this—tell my mother I was trying to see her—to get some funds, I have nothing. I depended on my knowledge of this country to escape—put them off the track—they're after me now—aren't they?"
"Yes—"
"I thought so; I should have got across to the house if the quarry lights hadn't been turned on so suddenly—I knew they'd got word when I saw that—still, I might have made the run, but that man throttled me—I must go—"
He got on his feet. At that moment they both started violently at the sound of something worrying at the gate; there was a rattle at the bars, a scramble, a frightened bleating among the sheep, a joyous bark—and Rag flung himself first upon Aileen then on Champney.