Through the dark night and blinding snow and distracting wind he had lost his reckoning and wandered in a circle until he had fallen down where they found him. They lifted him up and bore him into the rectory to his own room, undressed him, wrapped him in blankets, and put him to bed. He was in the deep sleep that precedes death by freezing. He only partially awoke while they were working over him; but he did not speak. They gave him warm spiced brandy and water, which he swallowed mechanically. All night long they watched and worked over him. In the morning, when James Campbell left the sick-room to make his toilet before going to breakfast, he left Gentleman Geff in what seemed a good sleep. But, while he sat at table explaining to his wife and daughter why he had been out of his room all night, Longman suddenly burst in upon them and said: “Come in, for Heaven’s sake! He is taken with a hemorrhage that I think will carry him off!” “Longman, run and fetch Dr. Hobbs. Mrs. Campbell and myself will attend to Montgomery.” The hunter fled out of the front door to fetch the physician, while Mr. and Mrs. Campbell rushed to the help of the sufferer. It was an appalling spectacle! The blood driven by the freezing cold to the lungs had congested there, and notwithstanding all the means that had been taken to restore his consciousness and save his life, though these means had been thus far successful, yet the congestion of the lungs had increased until it burst an artery and the hemorrhage followed. It was not fatal all at once, for Mr. and Mrs. Campbell called all their skill and experience into service and succeeded in stopping the flow before the arrival of the doctor. When the latter came to the bedside of the patient he found him laid back on his bed, as pale as death, as weak as a new-born infant, and scarcely breathing, his pulse scarcely beating. Dr. Hobbs approved all the rector had done, and then inquired: “Did you get an answer from Sir Ichabod Ingoldsby?” “Yes, by telegram. He cannot leave London at this crisis.” “Well, it does not matter now. This is a case that any country doctor or any old woman might understand and treat.” “What do you think of his chance of life?” whispered the rector. “It is a poorer one than he has yet had,” replied the doctor, looking at the pallid, wizen face, that seemed to have shrunken to half its size since his terrible loss of blood. Hetty cried for pity. “If he has any relatives they should be informed, for I do not think he will ever rise from that bed again,” said Dr. Hobbs. “I know of none, except the Earl of Engelmeed and the Viscount Stoors—his uncle and his cousin. I will write to the earl to-day,” said Mr. Campbell. “Engelmeed, of Engelwode, in Cumberland? That is where typhoid fever is raging so fiercely,” remarked Dr. Hobbs. Here followed some talk of that pestilence, and finally the doctor arose and took his leave, promising to return in the afternoon.