"Well," returned Chowles, who began to fancy something might be made of the matter, "if you think we should be rewarded, we would convey the gentleman back to his own home provided we can ascertain where it is. But I am afraid he may die on the way."
"In that case you can apply to his friends," rejoined Leonard. "He must not be abandoned thus."
"First, let us know who he is," returned Chowles. "Is he able to speak?"
"I know not," answered Leonard. "Bring the lantern this way, and let us examine his countenance."
Chowles complied, and held the light over the unfortunate person. His attire was rich, but in great disorder, and sullied by the loathsome mass in which he had been plunged. He was in the flower of youth, and his features must have been remarkable for their grace and beauty, but they were now of a livid hue, and swollen and distorted by pain. Still Leonard recognised them.
"Gracious Heaven!" he exclaimed. "It is Sir Paul Parravicin."
"Sir Paul Parravicin!" echoed Chowles. "By all that's wonderful, so it is! Here is a lucky chance! Bring the dead-cart hither, Jonas—quick, quick! I shall put him under the care of Judith Malmayns."
And the burier hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.
"Had I known who it was," exclaimed Leonard, gazing with abhorrence at the miserable object before him, "I would have left him to die the death he so richly merits!"
A deep groan broke from the sufferer.