“Harken!” cried Armstrong earnestly. “Although our acquaintance is of the shortest, I would dearly love to do you a service. I will go to Oxford for you, and do there whatever you wish done.”
The speaker reddened as he said this, and his conscience reproved him for thus making use of the other’s infirmity, although he maintained stoutly to himself that he was honest in his proclamation.
The stricken youth was no less troubled in mind than in body, feeling himself a treacherous wretch, accidentally well punished; but he, too, inwardly braced his weakening purpose by the thought that he acted for the good of his country, an action tending toward the speedy return of peace.
“Help me to my horse,” he pleaded, ignoring the proffer just made to him. “I must get home and learn whether this hurt is serious or not.”
“It is far from serious, I tell you, and it means only a month’s idleness. Lean you on me. There; make no exertion. I will lift you to your saddle.”
The powerful Scot raised him as if he were a child, and, with a woman’s tenderness, set him gently on his horse. He got into his own seat so promptly that his steadying hand was on his comrade’s shoulder before the swaying body could do more than threaten a fall.
“This way, you say?”
Wentworth nodded wearily, and the two set out slowly for the high road. Despite their awkward going, the edifice they sought was soon in sight, situated in a park, to which a winding lane led from the main thoroughfare. The place seemed deserted, and as they neared it Wentworth showed a faint anxiety that he might reach his room unobserved.
“My sister must be told, of course, and a doctor brought; but I wish to avoid a rabble of gossiping servants if I can.”
“I will carry you wherever you direct, and if we meet anyone we must enjoin silence. Can you indicate the position of a private door through which we may enter.”