The whistling and the thoughts came to a summary end together. At the other end of the coppice, but a yard or two on this side the stile that divided it from the open field, there was Charles Van Rheyn on the ground, his back against the trunk of a tree, his arms stretched up, clasping it. But for that clasp, and the laboured breathing, I might have thought he was dead. For his face was ghastly, blue round the mouth, and wore the strangest expression I ever saw. "Charley, what's the matter?" But he could not answer. He was panting frightfully, as though every gasp would be his last. What on earth was I to do? Down I knelt, saying never another word. "It--gives--me--much--hurt," said he, at length, with a long pause between every word. "What does?" "Here"--pointing to his chest--towards the left side. "Did you hurt yourself? Did you fall?" "No, I not hurt myself. I fell because I not able to run more. It is the breath. I wish papa was near me!" Instinct told me that he must have assistance, and yet I did not like to leave him. But what if delay in getting it should be dangerous? I rose up to go. "You--you are not going to quit me!" he cried out, putting his feeble grasp on my arm. "But, Charley, I want to get somebody to you," I said in an agony, "I can't do anything for you myself: anything in the world." "No, you stay. I should not like to be alone if I die." The shock the word gave me I can recall yet. Die! If there was any fear of _that_, it was all the more necessary I should make a rush for Dr. Frost and Featherston. Never had I been so near my wits' end before, in the uncertainty as to what course I ought to take. All in a moment, there arose a shrill whistle on the other side the stile. It was like a godsend. I knew it quite well for that vicious young reptile's, but it was welcome to me as sunshine in harvest. "There's Raddy, Van Rheyn. I will send him." Vaulting over the stile, I saw the young man standing with his back to me near the hedge, his wretched outer garment--a sack without shape--hitched up, his hands in the pockets of his dilapidated trousers, that hung in fringes below the knee. He was whistling to his dog in the coppice. They must have struck through the tangles and briars higher up, which was a difficult feat, and strictly forbidden by law. It was well Sir John's agent did not see Mr. Raddy--whose eyes, scratched and bleeding, gave ample proof of the trespass. "Yah!" he shrieked out, turning at the sound of me, and grinning fresh defiance. "Raddy," I said, speaking in persuasive tones to propitiate him in my great need, "I want you to do something for me. Go to Dr. Frost as quickly as you are able, and say----" Of all the derisive horrible laughs, his interruption was the worst and loudest. It drowned the words.