A terrific crash of broken glass was followed by the shrieks of old Martha and groans in the darkness, while I heard Captain Jeremy rushing from his room, shouting for lights to be brought.
When at length we found tinder and steel and a light was provided, my father was seen lying on his face, bleeding profusely from a wound in the right side.
"Water!" he gasped feebly. "I am done for!" and before we could raise him from the floor he had swooned.
Jeremy, cursing loudly, was at first for pursuing the murderous villain who had dealt the fell blow, but pursuit was not to be thought of when we saw my father's desperate condition. Fearing to carry him upstairs to his own chamber, we lifted him into the dining-room, where we placed his senseless form on a roughly-constructed couch.
Constance had now joined us, and though trembling with fear and anxiety, she alone suggested the wisest course.
"Run, Clifford, for a chirurgeon!" she exclaimed, and, hatless and shoeless, though I had found time to don my clothing, I tore over the sodden fields to the house of Master Blackwood, who lived well on the outskirts of the village.
Seeing the case was urgent, though I could but babble an incoherent summons, the surgeon came quickly; and having made a hasty examination, the grave look on his clear-cut features showed that my sire was in dire peril of death.
Having dressed the wound, Master Blackwood applied himself to restoring his patient to consciousness, and while this was being done my glance fell upon the picture--or, rather, the frame--that my father had bought but a few short hours ago.
The painting was missing, cut from the frame by a sharp knife. Almost at the same time Captain Miles noticed the empty frame, and, in spite of his accustomed coolness, his jaw dropped.
"Alack-a-day! A sorry pass! 'Tis the friar's curse come home," he muttered huskily.