Arthur put his hand up to his waistcoat buttons, and when Adam had unbuttoned it, he took a longer breath.  “Lay my head down,” he said, faintly, “and get me some water if you can.”

Adam laid the head down gently on the fern again, and emptying the tools out of the flag-basket, hurried through the trees to the edge of the Grove bordering on the Chase, where a brook ran below the bank.

When he returned with his basket leaking, but still half-full, Arthur looked at him with a more thoroughly reawakened consciousness.

“Can you drink a drop out o’ your hand, sir?” said Adam, kneeling down again to lift up Arthur’s head.

“No,” said Arthur, “dip my cravat in and souse it on my head.”

The water seemed to do him some good, for he presently raised himself a little higher, resting on Adam’s arm.

“Do you feel any hurt inside sir?” Adam asked again

“No—­no hurt,” said Arthur, still faintly, “but rather done up.”

After a while he said, “I suppose I fainted away when you knocked me down.”

“Yes, sir, thank God,” said Adam.  “I thought it was worse.”

“What!  You thought you’d done for me, eh?  Come help me on my legs.”

“I feel terribly shaky and dizzy,” Arthur said, as he stood leaning on Adam’s arm; “that blow of yours must have come against me like a battering-ram.  I don’t believe I can walk alone.”

“Lean on me, sir; I’ll get you along,” said Adam.  “Or, will you sit down a bit longer, on my coat here, and I’ll prop y’ up.  You’ll perhaps be better in a minute or two.”

“No,” said Arthur.  “I’ll go to the Hermitage—­I think I’ve got some brandy there.  There’s a short road to it a little farther on, near the gate.  If you’ll just help me on.”

They walked slowly, with frequent pauses, but without speaking again.  In both of them, the concentration in the present which had attended the first moments of Arthur’s revival had now given way to a vivid recollection of the previous scene.  It was nearly dark in the narrow path among the trees, but within the circle of fir-trees round the Hermitage there was room for the growing moonlight to enter in at the windows.  Their steps were noiseless on the thick carpet of fir-needles, and the outward stillness seemed to heighten their inward consciousness, as Arthur took the key out of his pocket and placed it in Adam’s hand, for him to open the door.  Adam had not known before that Arthur had furnished the old Hermitage and made it a retreat for himself, and it was a surprise to him when he opened the door to see a snug room with all the signs of frequent habitation.

Arthur loosed Adam’s arm and threw himself on the ottoman.  “You’ll see my hunting-bottle somewhere,” he said.  “A leather case with a bottle and glass in.”

Adam was not long in finding the case.  “There’s very little brandy in it, sir,” he said, turning it downwards over the glass, as he held it before the window; “hardly this little glassful.”