The young men had just entered the suburb of H---, and were spurring on four abreast at a canter. At that time an old man, feeling his way before him with a stick,--for though not quite blind, he saw imperfectly,--was crossing the road. Arthur and his friends, in loud converse, did not observe the poor passenger. He stopped abruptly, for his ear caught the sound of danger--it was too late: Mr. Marsden's horse, hard-mouthed, and high-stepping, came full against him. Mr. Marsden looked down: "Hang these old men! always in the way," said he, plaintively, and in the tone of a much-injured person, and, with that, Mr. Marsden rode on. But the others, who were younger--who were not gamblers--who were not yet grinded down into stone by the world's wheels--the others halted. Arthur Beaufort leaped from his horse, and the old man was already in his arms; but he was severely hurt. The blood trickled from his forehead; he complained of pains in his side and limbs. "Lean on me, my poor fellow! Do you live far off? I will take you home." "Not many yards. This would not have happened if I had had my dog. Never mind, sir, go your way. It is only an old man--what of that? I wish I had my dog." "I will join you," said Arthur to his friends; "my groom has the direction. I will just take the poor old man home, and send for a surgeon. I shall not be long." "So like you, Beaufort: the best fellow in the world!" said Mr. Watson, with some emotion. "And there's Marsden positively, dismounted, and looking at his horse's knees as if they could be hurt! Here's a sovereign for you, my man." "And here's another," said Sir Harry; "so that's settled. Well, you will join us, Beaufort? You see the yard yonder. We'll wait twenty minutes for you. Come on, Watson." The old man had not picked up the sovereigns thrown at his feet, neither had he thanked the donors. And on his countenance there was a sour, querulous, resentful expression. "Must a man be a beggar because he is run over, or because he is half blind?" said he, turning his dim, wandering eyes painfully towards Arthur. "Well, I wish I had my dog!" "I will supply his place," said Arthur, soothingly. "Come, lean on me-- heavier; that's right. You are not so bad,--eh?" "Um!--the sovereigns!--it is wicked to leave them in the kennel!" Arthur smiled. "Here they are, sir." The old man slid the coins into his pocket, and Arthur continued to talk, though he got but short answers, and those only in the way of direction, till at last the old man stopped at the door of a small house near the churchyard.