"Look here, Mr. Short," said the squire decisively. "I must ask you to take Mrs. Goddard home again and call her women to look after her. I fancy she will come to herself before long. Do you mind?" "Not in the least," said John cheerfully, mounting at the back of the dog-cart. "And--Reynolds--bring Mr. Short back to the Hall immediately, please, and you shall have some beer." "All right, sir." John supported the fainting lady with one arm, turning round upon his seat at the back. Old Strawberry wheeled quickly in her tracks and trotted down the avenue under the evident impression that she was going home. Mr. Juxon dashed across the ditch again to the place where Walter Goddard had fallen. The squire knelt down and tried to ascertain the extent of the man's injuries; as far as he could see there was a bad wound at his throat, and one hand was much mangled. But there seemed to have been no great flow of blood. He tore open the smock-frock and shirt and put his ear to the heart. Faintly, very faintly, he could hear it beat. Walter Goddard was alive still--alive to live for years perhaps, the squire reflected; to live in a prison, it was true, but to live. To describe his feelings in that moment would be impossible. Had he found the convict dead, it would be useless to deny that he would have felt a very great satisfaction, tempered perhaps by some pity for the wretched man's miserable end, but still very great. It would have seemed such a just end, after all; to be killed in the attempt to kill, and to have died not by the squire's hand but by the sharp strong jaws of the hound who had once before saved the squire's life. But he was alive. It would not take much to kill him; a little pressure on his wounded throat would be enough. Even to leave him there, uncared for, till morning in the bleak wind, lying upon the cold ground, would be almost certain to put an end to his life. But to the honour of Charles James Juxon be it said that such thoughts never crossed his mind. He pulled off his heavy ulster greatcoat, wrapped it about the felon's insensible body, then, kneeling, raised up his head and shoulders, got his strong arms well round him and with some difficulty rose to his feet. Once upright, it was no hard matter to carry his burthen through the trees to the road, and up the avenue to his own door. "Holmes," said Mr. Juxon to his butler, "this man is badly hurt, but he is alive. Help me to carry him upstairs." There was that in the squire's voice which brooked neither question nor delay when he was in earnest. The solemn butler took Walter Goddard by the feet and the squire took him by the shoulders; so they carried him up to a bedroom and laid him down, feeling for the bed in the dark as they moved. Holmes then lit a candle with great calmness. "Shall I send for the medical man, sir?" he asked quietly.