"No. Better soon," said Leslie in a low voice. "Let me think." "Be on the look-out," whispered Uncle Luke to his brother. "Better not let Louise come in." Leslie's eyes opened quickly, and he gazed from one to the other. "Better not let her see you till you are better," said Uncle Luke, taking the injured man into their confidence. A piteous sigh escaped from Leslie, and he closed his eyes tightly. "Poor boy!" said Uncle Luke, "he must have had an ugly fall. Missed his way in the dark, I suppose. George, you'll have to keep him here to-night." "Yes, yes, of course," said George Vine uneasily, for his ears were on the strain to catch his child's step, and her absence troubled him. All at once Leslie made an effort to sit up, but a giddy sensation overcame him, and he sank back, staring at them wildly. "Don't be alarmed," said George Vine kindly. "You are faint. That's better." Leslie lay still for a few moments, and then made a fresh effort to sit up. This time it was with more success. "Give him a little more brandy," whispered Uncle Luke. "No; he is feverish, and it may do harm. Yes," he said to Leslie, as the injured man grasped his arm, "you want to tell us how you fell down." "No," said Leslie quickly, but in a faint voice, "I did not fall. It was in the struggle." "Struggle?" cried Uncle Luke. "Were you attacked?" Leslie nodded quickly. "Where? Along the road?" "No," said Leslie hoarsely; "here." "Here!" exclaimed the brothers in a breath; and then they exchanged glances, each silently saying to the other, "The poor fellow is wandering." "There," said Leslie, "I can think clearly now. It all seemed like a dream. You must know, Mr Vine. I must tell you," he added piteously. "Mr Vine, what do you propose doing?" "Hush!" said George Vine, laying his hand upon the young man's shoulder, "you are ill and excited now. Don't talk at present. Wait a little while." "Wait?" cried Leslie, growing more excited. "You do not know what you are saying. How long have I been lying here? What time is it?" "About nine," said Vine kindly. "Come, come, lie back for a few moments. We'll get some cold water, and bathe your temples." "Man, you will drive me mad," cried Leslie. "Do you not--no, you have not understood yet. Louise--Miss Vine!" George Vine staggered as if he had been struck, and his brother caught his arm as he stood there gasping, with his hand to his throat. "What do you mean?" cried Uncle Luke sternly. "I am sick and faint," said Leslie, pressing his hands to his brow, as if unable to think clearly. "I remember now. I came in to ask about Mr Van Heldre, and a stranger was with Miss Vine. I tried to stop him--till you returned. We struggled, and he threw me. I recollect no more." "You're mad!" said Uncle Luke savagely. "Where is Louise?" His brother caught hold of the back of a chair to support himself, and his lips moved, but no sound came.