"Don't call it chance, my boy. It was Providence sent you to save a life."
"Providence may have wished to save your life, and was not particular as to the means. Let us look to this fellow. I hope my shot has not killed him outright."
They both stooped over the fallen giant. Dick Darkly lay on his face, groaning dismally, the blood pumping from his chest with every breath.
"It's an ugly-looking hole," said Sir Everard. "Two inches lower, and it would have gone straight through his heart. As it is, it will put a stop to his assassinating proclivities for awhile, I fancy. Lie still, you matchless scoundrel, while I try and stop this flow of blood."
He knelt beside the groaning man and endeavored to stanch the red gushing with his handkerchief. The youth stood by, gazing calmly on.
"What do you mean to do with him?" he asked.
"Send some of my people to take him to his home, and as soon as he is sufficiently recovered to stand his trial for attempted murder—"
"For God's sake, Sir Everard!" faintly moaned the wounded man.
"Ah, you audacious villain, you can supplicate now! If I let you off this time, my life would not be worth an hour's purchase."
"What did he call you?" asked the boy, with sudden, sharp anxiety in his tone. "Whose life have I saved?"