“We couldn't tell out there in the dark,” answered the only one in the party who seemed to have his wits about him. The other two had at once made their way to the nearest chairs, and with steps so unsteady that Chris wondered how they had been able to lend any aid whatsoever.
“Was he unconscious when you got to him?” he asked, unfastening the clothing at the injured man's throat.
“Yes; he hasn't seemed to know anything from the first. It looks almost as though he might be dying, doesn't it?” and the young fellow stood gazing helplessly down at his friend, the very picture of despair.
“No; I don't think it's as bad as that. You've been run away with, of course,” for the whole party were covered with mud and dirt from head to foot, and there was evidence of two or three ugly cuts and bruises among them.
“Yes,” said the other; “it was a clean upset, and Ted here was driving, so that the reins got tangled about him, and he was dragged full a hundred yards or so. If the horses hadn't succeeded in breaking away from the trap the moment that it went over, I should have been killed surely, for it fell on top of me in some way, and as it was, I could scarcely get from under it;” and the young fellow's blanched face grew a shade whiter as he realized how narrow had been his escape. Meanwhile, with a little maid to hold the light, Mrs. Hartley searched through a tiny corner cupboard for a flask that had been carefully stowed away behind some larger bottles, and then poured a generous share of its contents into a glass held in readiness in the little maid's other hand.
“You give it to him, Chris,” she said, not daring to trust her shaking hands; and raising the poor fellow's head, Chris pressed the glass to his lips. As he swallowed the brandy his eyes opened for a moment, but there was no sign of returning consciousness.
“Now, the next thing,” said Chris, “is to get a doctor, and I'll have to drive into Nuneham for him. Do you suppose one of your friends there can help me harness?” but one of the friends was already asleep, and the attitude of the other showed that no assistance was to be looked for in that direction.
“What's to be done with them, mother?” asked old Mr. Hartley, who, enveloped in an old-fashioned, large-patterned dressing-gown, had arrived rather tardily upon the scene, and had stood for several seconds glaring down at the two disgraceful specimens.
“Martha is making the guest-room ready,” replied Mrs. Hartley, showing she was not too old to think ahead in an emergency, and yet drawing a deep sigh with the next breath at the thought of that best spare-room being put to so ignoble a service. Chris had himself been thinking it was rather a serious question to know how to dispose of them, and was glad to have Mrs. Hartley herself suggest the way.
“Thank goodness you've got your senses left,” said Chris, turning to the young fellow, who really seemed anxious to render every possible service; “and if we get them into the room there you can put them to bed, can't you? while I go for the doctor;” and in a voice scarcely audible from mortification the young fellow replied that he thought he could; so after some difficulty in making them understand the move impending, the two men were successfully landed in the best spare-room.