“Now what is it?” demanded Emmy.  For answer Alf struck his match, and they both looked at the floor by Alf’s feet.  Emmy gave a startled cry and dropped to her knees.

“Hul-lo!” said Alf; and with his lighted match raised he moved to the gas, stepping, as he did so, over the body of Pa Blanchard, which was lying at full length across the kitchen floor.

CHAPTER XII:  CONSEQUENCES

i

In the succeeding quietness, Emmy fumbled at the old man’s hands; then quickly at his breast, near the heart.  Trembling violently, she looked up at Alf, as if beseeching his aid.  He too knelt, and Emmy took Pa’s lolling head into her lap, as though by her caress she thought to restore colour and life to the features.  The two discoverers did not speak nor reason:  they were wholly occupied with the moment’s horror.  At last Alf said, almost in a whisper: 

“I think it’s all right.  He’s hit his head.  Feel his head, and see if it’s bleeding.”

Emmy withdrew one hand.  A finger was faintly smeared with blood.  She shuddered, looking in horror at the colour against her hand; and Alf nodded sharply at seeing his supposition verified.  His eye wandered from the insensible body, to a chair, to the open cupboard, to the topmost shelf of the cupboard.  Emmy followed his glance point by point, and in conclusion they looked straight into each other’s eyes, with perfect understanding.  Alf’s brows arched.

“Get some water—­quick!” Emmy cried sharply.  She drew her handkerchief from her breast as Alf returned with a jugful of water; and, having folded it, she dangled the kerchief in the jug.

“Slap it on!” urged Alf.  “He can’t feel it, you know.”

So instructed, Emmy first of all turned Pa’s head to discover the wound, and saw that her skirt was already slightly stained by the oozing blood.  With her wetted handkerchief she gently wiped the blood from Pa’s hair.  It was still quite moist, and more blood flowed at the touch.  That fact made her realise instinctively that the accident, the stages of which had been indicated by Alf’s wandering glances, had happened within a few minutes of their arrival.  When Alf took the jug and threw some of its contents upon the old man’s grey face, splashing her, she made an impatient gesture of protest.

“No, no!” she cried.  “It’s all over me!” “Been after his beer, he has,” Alf unnecessarily explained.  “That’s what it is.  Got up on the chair, and fell off it, trying to get at it.  Bad boy!”

As she did not answer, from the irritation caused by nervous apprehensiveness, he soaked his own handkerchief and began to slap it across Pa’s face, until the jug was empty.  Alf thoughtfully sprinkled the last drops from it so that they fell cascading about Pa.  He was turning away to refill the jug, when a notion occurred to him.

“Any brandy in the house?” he asked.  “Ought to have thought of it before.  Pubs are all closed now.”