"Yes, glass. Can't you hear it?" snarled Uncle Luke, who, as he found his brother resume his old demeanour, relapsed into his own. "There! glass--glass--glass crunching into your Turkey carpet." As he spoke he gave his foot a stamp, with the result that at each movement there was a sharp crackling sound. "It's very strange. Louise!" "Oh!" A low, piteous moan. "What's that?" cried Uncle Luke sharply. George Vine stood in the darkness paralysed with dread. Some fresh trouble had befallen his house--some new horror assailed him; and his hand wandered vaguely about in search of support as a terrible feeling of sickness came over him, and he muttered hoarsely, "Louise! my child! my child!" Luke Vine was alarmed, but he did not lose his presence of mind. "Margaret--a fit," he said to himself, as, turning quickly, his foot kicked against another portion of the lamp-globe, which tinkled loudly as it fell to pieces. He brushed by his brother, hurrying out into the hall, to return directly bearing the lamp which stood on a bracket, and holding it high above his head as he stepped carefully across the carpet. "There! there!" whispered George Vine, pointing towards the fireplace, where he could see a figure lying athwart the hearth-rug. Then, as Luke held the light higher, George Vine seemed to recover his own presence of mind, and going down on one knee as he bent over, he turned the face of the prostrate man to the light. "Duncan Leslie!" cried Uncle Luke excitedly, as he quickly set down the lamp and knelt on the other side. "Where's Louie? The poor boy's in a fit." "No, no," whispered his brother hoarsely. "Look! look!" Luke drew in a quick, hissing breath. "Call Louie," he said sharply. "Tell her to bring something to bind up his head--scissors, sponge, and water." "Has he been struck down?" faltered George Vine, with the thought of his old friend rushing to his mind. "No, no. Don't talk. Here, your handkerchief, man," said Luke, who was far the more matter-of-fact. "A fall. Head cut. Slip on the cliff, I suppose, and he has come here for help." Taking the handkerchief passed to him by his brother, he rapidly bound it round the place where a deep cut was slowly welling, while George Vine dragged sharply at the bell, and then ran to the door and called, "Louise! Louise!" Liza came hurrying into the hall, round-eyed and startled. "Where is your mistress?" cried Vine. "Miss Louise, sir? Isn't she there?" "No. Go up to her room and fetch her. Perhaps she is with Miss Vine." "I'll go and see, sir," said the girl wonderingly; and she ran up-stairs. "Help me to get him on the sofa, George," said Uncle Luke; and together they placed the injured man with his head resting on a cushion. "Now, then, I think we had better have Knatchbull. He must have had a nasty fall. Send your girl; or no, I'll go myself." "No," said Leslie feebly; "don't go." "Ah: that's better. You heard what I said?" "Yes; what you said."