“There’s something lying there,” said Seth, whose eyes were suddenly focused on the ground, and then he dismounted quickly.  “It’s a man, Master Richard, and by the Lord! he’s had rough treatment.”

Barrington quieted his horse with soothing words, and dismounting, tethered him to a gate.

“He’s not dead,” Seth said, as Barrington bent over him; and as if to endorse his words, the man moved slightly and groaned.

“We can’t leave him, but—­”

“But we shall not reach Paris to-night,” Seth returned.  “Didn’t they tell us we should pass by a village?  I have forgotten the name.”

“Tremont,” said Richard.

“It can’t be much farther.  There’s no seeing to find out his injuries here, but if you could help to get him over the saddle in front of me, Master Richard, I could take him along slowly.”

A feeble light glimmered presently along the road, which proved to be the light from a tavern which stood at one end of the village, a rough and not attractive house of entertainment, a fact that the neighbors seemed to appreciate, for no sound came from it.

“Those who attacked him may be there, Master Richard, refreshing themselves after their dastardly work.”

“They must be saying silent prayers of repentance, then.  Stay in the shadows, Seth; I’ll make inquiry.”

Leading his horse, Barrington went to the door and called for the landlord.  He had to call twice before an old man shuffled along a dark passage from the rear of the house and stood before him.

“Are there lodgings for travelers here?”

“Lodgings, but no travelers.  Tremont’s deserted except by children and invalids.  All in Paris, monsieur.  Ay, these be hard times for some of us.”

“I’m for Paris, but must rest here to-night.”

“You’re welcome, monsieur, and we’ll do our best, but it’s poor fare you’ll get and that not cheap.”

“Are there no travelers in the house?”

“None; none for these two months.”

“No visitor of any kind?”

“None.  Only four to-day, and they cursed me and my wine.”

“I have a friend with me, and a wounded man.  We found him by the roadside.”

“We’ll do our best,” said the landlord, and he turned away and called for his wife.

As Barrington and Seth carried the wounded man in, the landlord looked at him and started.

“You know him?” asked Barrington sharply.

“I saw him only to-day.  I’ll tell you when you’ve got him comfortable in his bed.”

“Is there a doctor in Tremont?”

“No, monsieur.  Over at Lesville there’s one, unless he’s gone to Paris with the rest, but he couldn’t be got here until the morning.”.

“I may make shift to patch him up to-night, Master Richard,” said Seth.  “I helped the doctors a bit before Yorktown, when I was with the Colonel.”

Possibly no physician or surgeon would have been impressed with Seth’s methods.  He was never intended to dress wounds, and yet his touch was gentle.