‘Hold the bridle, girl.’ Barbara obeyed. Then the man went to his fallen comrade and spoke to him, but received no answer. He raised his arms, and tried if any bones were broken, then he put his hand to the heart. ‘Give the boy the bridle, and come here, you girl. Help me to loosen his neck-cloth. Is there water near?’ ‘None; we are at the highest point of the moor.’ ‘Damn it! There is water everywhere in over-abundance in this country, except where it is wanted.’ ‘He is alive,’ said Barbara, kneeling and raising the head of the prostrate, insensible man. ‘He is stunned, but he breathes.’ ‘Jasper!’ shouted the man who was unhurt, ‘for God’s sake, wake up. You know I can’t remain here all night.’ No response. ‘This is desperate. I must press forward. Fatalities always occur when most inconvenient. I was born to ill-luck. No help, no refuge near.’ ‘I am by as help; my home not far distant,’ said Barbara, ‘for a refuge.’ ‘O yes—_you_! What sort of help is that? Your house! I can’t diverge five miles out of my road for that.’ ‘We live not half an hour from this point.’ ‘O yes—half an hour multiplied by ten. You women don’t know how to calculate distances, or give a decent direction.’ ‘The blood is flowing from his head,’ said Barbara: ‘it is cut. He has fallen on a stone.’ ‘What the devil is to be done? I cannot stay.’ ‘Sir,’ said Barbara, ‘of course you stay by your comrade. Do you think to leave him half dead at night to the custody of two girls, strangers, on a moor?’ ‘You don’t understand,’ answered the man; ‘I cannot and I will not stay.’ He put his hand to his head. ‘How far to your home?’ ‘I have told you, half-an-hour.’ ‘Honour bright—no more?’ ‘I said, half-an-hour.’ ‘Good God, Watt! always a fool?’ He turned sharply towards the lad who was seated on the stone. The boy had unslung a violin from his back, taken it from its case, had placed it under his chin, and drawn the bow across the strings. ‘Have done, Watt! Let go the horses, have you? What a fate it is for a man to be cumbered with helpless, useless companions.’ ‘Jasper’s horse is lame,’ answered the boy, ‘so I have tied the two together, the sound and the cripple, and neither can get away.’ ‘Like me with Jasper. Damnation—but I must go! I dare not stay.’ The boy swung his bow in the moonlight, and above the raging of the wind rang out the squeal of the instrument. Eve looked at him, scared. He seemed some goblin perched on the stone, trying with his magic fiddle to work a spell on all who heard its tones. The boy satisfied himself that his violin was in order, and then put it once more in its case, and cast it over his back. ‘How is Jasper?’ he shouted; but the man gave him no answer. ‘Half-an-hour! Half an eternity to me,’ growled the man. ‘However, one is doomed to sacrifice self for others. I will take him to your house and leave him there. Who live at your house? Are there many men there?’