“Very good. Get on that horse, which belongs to your master, ride to the village, and bring Doctor Marsden here as quickly as you can.”
“Be Marster Tom ill, zur?”
“Yes, he is; but mind you say nothing to any one about it. Away with you.”
Armstrong led his own horse to a stall in the stables, took off saddle and bridle, then went to the well and removed the stains from his clothing as well as water would do it. Going toward the house he met the girl.
“My brother says you tell him the wound is not dangerous. Is that true?” she asked.
“Quite true. I’ve had a dozen worse myself,” he replied, with encouraging exaggeration. “But he will have to lie still for a month or more under your care.”
“He says that is impossible, but I told him he shall do as the doctor orders, duty or no duty. I am going to send for Doctor Marsden, so pray pardon me.”
“I have already sent for Doctor Marsden. I took that liberty, for it is better in such a case to lose no time.”
“Oh, thank you!”
The girl turned and walked to the house with him. He found the patient restless and irritable. The wan whiteness of his face had given place to rising fever. His eyes were unnaturally bright, and they followed Armstrong with a haunted look in them. His visitor said nothing, but wished the doctor would make haste.