He strove to hurry towards it, but his gigantic strength failed at length; and, on reaching the humble cottage, he sank exhausted at the door.  When he recovered consciousness, he perceived he was laid on a rough bed, in a very small chamber, illuminated feebly by the still slanting beams of the eastern sun.  He slowly regained his full recollection; but, on hearing voices in the room, he shut his eyes again, and affected the same insensibility as before.

     “What could I do?” said a voice, in a deprecating tone.

“Leave him to die, to be sure,” was the rough-toned answer.  “I thought thee had had enough of gentlefolks, without bringing another fair-feathered bird to the nest.”  There was something in the expression with which this was said, that seemed to have a powerful effect on the first speaker.

     “After the years of grief I’ve suffered, you might have spared
     your taunt, George.  The gentleman lay almost dead at the door,
     and you yourself helped me to bring him in.”

     “’Twould have been better, perhaps, for him if we had led him
     somewhere else; for your father seems bitter now against all
     the fine folks together.”

     “Because he fancies he has cause of hatred to me—­but he never
     had,” answered the girl.

     “And the gentleman had pistols, too,” said the man.  “You had
     better hide them, or your father will maybe use them against
     the owner.”

     “I did not move them from the gentleman’s breast.  We must wake
     him, and hurry him off before my father’s return—­but, hark!  I
     hear his whistle.  Oh, George, what shall we do?”

Lawleigh, who lost not a syllable of the conversation, imperceptibly moved his hand to his breast, and grasped the pistol.  The man and the girl, in the mean time, went to the door, and, in a minute or two, returned with a third party—­an old man dressed like a gamekeeper, and carrying a short, stout fowling-piece in his hand.  His eyes were wild and cruel, and his haggard features wore the impress of years of dissipation and recklessness.  “Does he carry a purse, George?” said the new-comer, in a low whisper, as he looked towards the bed.

     “Don’t know—­never looked,” said George.  “Where have you been
     all the week?  We expected you home three days ago.”

     “All over the world, boy—­and now you’ll see me rest quiet and
     happy—­oh, very!  Don’t you think I looks as gleesome, Janet, as
     if I was a gentleman?”

The tone in which he spoke was at variance with the words; and it is likely that his face belied the expression he attributed to it; for his daughter, looking at him for the first time, exclaimed—­

     “Oh, father! what has happened?  I never saw you look so wild.”

“Lots has happened, Janet—­sich a lot o’ deaths I’ve been in at, to be sure—­all great folks, too, none o’ your paltry little fellows of poachers or gamekeepers, but real quality.  What do you think of a lord, my girl?”

     “I know nothing about them, father.”