‘I am by as help; my home not far distant,’ said Barbara, ‘for a refuge.’
‘O yes—you! What sort of help is that? Your house! I can’t diverge five miles out of my road for that.’
‘We live not half an hour from this point.’
‘O yes—half an hour multiplied by ten. You women don’t know how to calculate distances, or give a decent direction.’
‘The blood is flowing from his head,’ said Barbara: ‘it is cut. He has fallen on a stone.’
‘What the devil is to be done? I cannot stay.’
‘Sir,’ said Barbara, ‘of course you stay by your comrade. Do you think to leave him half dead at night to the custody of two girls, strangers, on a moor?’
‘You don’t understand,’ answered the man; ‘I cannot and I will not stay.’ He put his hand to his head. ‘How far to your home?’
‘I have told you, half-an-hour.’
‘Honour bright—no more?’