What could he do to help him? Was life ebbing? had it ebbed all away? he asked himself. Was he dead, or only fainting? could he do nothing to recall him to life?
As he was lost in these thoughts he heard the heavy tramp of approaching feet, and before he could realise the predicament in which he had placed himself, the night-watch had come up to the spot and had arrested him as the murderer.
"Why do you arrest me?" said he. "I have only come here by chance to help this poor man."
"I daresay you have," said the sergeant, taking the blood-stained dagger from his hand.
"But I tell you I do not even know this poor man."
"Come, it's useless arguing with us; you'll have to do that with your judges. March on."
"But when I tell you that I only heard a scuffle and ran up——"
"Then where's the murderer?" asked one of the guards.
"He's just run off."
"What kind of a man was he?"