Leaving Dorothy standing on the threshold of the doorway, Manners advanced to the injured man's side, and endeavoured to sooth him by instilling into his mind a ray of hope. "O, Dorothy," gasped the priest, disregarding the words of his would-be comforter, "I am dying, dying like a dog. O, for some of Dame Durden's simples now. For the blessed Virgin's sake fetch Sir Benedict. O, dear! O, dear!" and he sank back with a groan. Dorothy turned, and with a fast-beating heart hastened to deliver the captive knight, while her lover endeavoured to staunch the flow of blood by binding the wound tightly up in strips of cloth. By dint of much shaking and shouting cousin Benedict was at last roused from his drunken sleep, and also at last was made to understand somewhat of the exigencies of the case for which his aid was needed. "I will come soon," he exclaimed, in answer to Dorothy's entreaties. "You must come now!" she replied, in a peremptory tone, which admitted of no prevarication. "Where is the wine?" he asked, as he rubbed his eyes and glanced around; "why, this is the kitchen." "Come along, Benedict; Father Philip is dying, I tell you. Do you understand?" Benedict a Woode stood up as still as he was able, and rubbed off a quantity of the salt which tenaciously adhered to his garments, then, noticing for the first time that he was in the great salt trough, he exclaimed in a tone of great surprise, "What! have I been here?" "You have," she answered severely, "but why do you not come and succour Father Philip? He is bleeding to death, while you, who are staying here, might help him." As the knight rapidly collected his scattered senses, he became more and more ashamed of himself; and now, clambering out of his ignominious confinement, with bowed head and tottering feet he humbly followed his fair companion across the yard. Not even the gigantic vat, which was still steaming from a recent brew, the pungent odour of which could be plainly scented, induced him to alter his course; he meekly entered the room at Dorothy's heels. Whatever effects of his recent indulgence remained with him before he entered the room, they were quickly dispelled as he beheld the pallid countenance of his friend, and falling down upon his knees, he scrutinised the injuries the venerable father had received. A brief examination satisfied Benedict that, unskilled as he was, the case was entirely beyond his power, and he knew not what to do. He unloosened the bandages which Manners had made, and let the already over-bled man bleed still more; and then, bethinking himself of summoning superior aid, he hastily concocted a dose of simples, which the sufferer could with difficulty be prevailed upon to take, despatched a mounted messenger to Derby, and sat himself down at the foot of the bench to await the course of events. The effect produced by the dose was evidently what Benedict had wished, and for a long time the sufferer was far more quiet.