As he spoke, they raised the youth and laid him on the table, and the blacksmith tore open his vest. The movement seemed to awaken him a little; and, probably with thoughts far distant, he exclaimed, in a faint voice, "No, never! no, not with life!" But the rough hands stayed not their work; and, after gazing for an instant at his wounded side, the man turned to his companion, saying, "Ivan, run down and bring up the pack, quick! We can stop this bleeding. Do you not see? it does not jerk. Then, if none of the vitals be touched----" "A hundred crowns if you save him till we can get to Aix," said Lord Montagu. "I think I can save him altogether," said the man. "The thing is, people will not treat man as if he were a beast; and so they kill him. Man and beast are only flesh, and all flesh is grass." But it is needless to discuss or to display any further the views and principles of Edward's somewhat rough doctor, or to detail the treatment he underwent. There was the usual amount of bustle and confusion, and the much talking and the recommendation of many remedies which could not be procured and would have done no good if they had been there. Suffice it that the bleeding was soon stayed, and that Edward recovered from the fainting-fit into which the wound, probably penetrating some very sensitive part, had thrown him. The blacksmith by no means wanted mother-wit, and his treatment was probably based upon the sound principle of merely aiding nature. The lad spoke a few words, and they tried to impose silence upon him; but he would not hold his peace till those around assured him that no one had hurt his brother and that he was safe in another chamber. All Lord Montagu's anxiety seemed to be to get him to Aix; and he went out himself and sent out more than once to see if the storm was over. Luckily for Edward, it continued all night and part of the next morning; I say luckily, for the hands in which he was were probably better calculated to bring about his recovery than any which could have been found in a small town in Savoy, as medical science went in those times. In the mean while, the party assembled made themselves as comfortable as they could in disagreeable circumstances of many kinds; and the heavy tread of Sir Richard Langdale was heard through the night beating incessantly the floor of the room above. Toward morning that wearisome footfall ceased, and Lord Montagu, who sat by Edward's side and was still awake, said to himself, "That poor wretch has found sleep at length. Now, which is the happiest?--he, or poor Ned here? I would rather be that boy than the man who has killed his own brother. They say that Edward saved his life, too, not an hour before. Very likely! He is fit for any gallant act. Heaven! what must that man's thoughts be?"