A perfect volley of mumbled remonstrances came from the prostrate figure in the wagon. Gordon seemed to understand him. "No, I shall not take you there," he said, "but to the hotel. You will be better cared for. I know the proprietor."
He got in beside the man, and seated himself on the floor of the wagon. Aaron mounted to the driver's seat.
"Tell Clemency and her mother not to worry if they are awake," Gordon called to James as the horses started.
James said yes and went into the house. He entered through the office door, and directly Clemency was in his arms, all trembling and half-weeping. "Oh, what has happened? Has Uncle Tom taken him away?" she quavered.
"Hush, dear, you will wake your mother. Yes, he has taken him away."
"What was the matter, tell me."
"He was unconscious. He had fallen."
"He came to. I heard him speak. Were any bones broken?"
"No, I think not. You must go to bed; it it very late, dear."
Clemency had put fresh wood on the hearth, and the little place was all a-waver and [pg 187] a-flicker with firelight. Grotesque shadows danced over the walls and ceiling, and sprawled uncertainly on the floor. Clemency looked up in James's face, and her own had a shocked whiteness and horror, in spite of the tenderness in his. "Tell—" she began.