The young man began to feel it gently from shoulder to wrist, raised it, and laid it down again, while the boy bore it for a time, flinching involuntarily though again and again, till he could bear no more. "Oh!" he groaned at last. "Don't! It's horrible! How you do hurt! I suppose I shall have no arm. It's horrible, Sim. I wish he had killed me out of hand." "What! Why, my dear brave old fellow, it's only a horrible wrench, and will soon come right." "Not broken?" cried the boy wildly. "Broken? No, or it wouldn't move like that. Why, Denis, lad, when you gave point you must have run him through, and as he tore on your arm must have been wrenched round while he dragged himself or was carried away--of course, as the horses galloped on." "But where is he?" cried Denis. "I don't know. He wasn't here when I came up. He must have taken flight--I mean, crawled away, for he must have been wounded badly." "But the horses are all right?" said Denis faintly. "Yes; the brave beasts were as you see them now, standing round you. Ah! Stop a moment. What does this mean?" He had been looking from side to side as he spoke, and caught sight of the crushed-down herbage which grew densely at the foot of the hedge, nettle and towering dock and hemlock looking as if something had crawled through; and, rising quickly, he found somewhat of a gap through which a person might have passed. And he found ruddy traces which made him go on a few paces to where the hedge seemed thinner, so that he could force his way through, to return on the other side to the gap and see traces again in the grass where some one had crawled. This track he followed for a few yards to a spot where the long grass was a good deal trampled, and beyond that there were regular footprints, as if some one had risen and walked light across the field. "Gone," said Saint Simon to himself; and he hurried back to the lane, where Denis was lying very still with his eyes closed, and the three horses ready to raise their heads from where they were calmly cropping the thick herbage and ready to salute him with a friendly whinny before resuming their meal. "Well, Denis, boy," he cried, "how is it now?" "Oh, a bit sick and faint, but I'm better. Have you found that brute?" "No; he has gone right away. But we don't want him, unless he comes back to take revenge on you, and then I should like to see you use your sword again." "Oh!" groaned Denis. "With an arm like this! I feel as if I should not lift it again for months."