“And how am I to get him all that way to-night?  The last train has gone hours ago.”

“Take him by road, then.  We’ll get a carriage—­a conveyance of some sort or other—­at once.  I’ll send Bob.”

She turned to the lad and gave him some directions, in obedience to which he disappeared.  Then she turned fiercely to Max.

“Don’t you see,” said she, “that if he wakes up and finds himself here, after what’s happened, it’ll about settle him?”

The words sent a shudder through Max.

“After what’s happened!” repeated he, with stammering tongue.  “What was it?  Who did it?”

But, instead of answering, Carrie threw herself down beside Dudley, who was now rapidly recovering strength, although he hardly seemed to understand where he was or by whom he was being tended.

“Do you feel all right now?” she asked, cheerfully.

He looked at her with dull eyes.

“Oh, yes,” said he.  “But I—­I don’t remember what—­”

“Take a drink of this,” interrupted Carrie, quickly, as she put to his lips a flask of brandy which Bob had fetched.  “You’ve got to take a long drive, and you want something to warm you first.”

“A drive!  A long drive!”

Dudley repeated the words as if he hardly understood their meaning.  But he was not satisfied, and as he sipped the brandy he looked at her curiously.  His next words, however, were a criticism on the restorative.

“What vile stuff!”

“Never mind.  It’s better than nothing.  Try a little more.”

But instead of obeying, he looked her steadily in the face.

“Where did I see you?  I remember your face!” said he.  “And who was that I heard talking just now?”

Suddenly, without any warning, he disengaged one hand from the hot towels in which he was swathed and sat up.  A hoarse cry broke from his lips as full recognition of the place in which he found himself forced itself upon him.  With a wild light of terror in his eyes, he looked searchingly round him.

“Where is he?  Where is he?” cried he, in a thick whisper.

Carrie’s face grew dark.

“Here is your friend,” she cried cheerily, “here is Mr. Wedmore.  He’s going with you; he’s not going to leave you; be sure of that.”

“Yes, old chap, I’m going with you,” said Max, hurrying forward and trying to shut out the view of the room with his person as he knelt down by his friend.

Dudley frowned impatiently.

“You, Max!” said he.  “What are you doing here?”

But he asked the question without interest, evidently absorbed in another subject.

“I’m going to take you down to The Beeches,” answered Max, promptly.

To his infinite satisfaction, this reply had the effect of distracting Dudley’s thoughts.  Into his pallid face there came a tinge of color, as he looked intently into his friend’s eyes, and repeated: