"Nay, not it. I see a deal, because I'm a man as thinks, doctor. No; I don't s'pose any one knows on it. But never you mind, doctor; gels always will be gels and listen to chaps like Squire Tom. But I say," whispered the old man, with a chuckle, after crossing to the window and seeing that the print curtain was well drawn over the broken patch through which the leaden tobacco jar had been hurled, "did you give it him well?" North groaned. "Why, doctor! Took more bad?" The old man glanced at the hand he had laid upon the doctor's shoulder, and wiped it, for it was wet with blood; and the sight of the hideous smear seemed to raise a terrible thought in his brain. "Why, doctor," he said, in a low whisper; "you haven't--you haven't hurt him much?" North seized the old man's arm, and sat gazing wildly at him for a few moments without speaking. He was battling with the mental confusion that troubled him and kept him in a state of hesitancy, in which his mind drifted like a derelict at sea. He mastered it at last, and began to see clearly that, from what the old sexton knew, he must continue to make him his confidant. There could be no half measures. For his own safety he must tell him all; though even now there was Leo, who knew of the encounter. No; she dare not speak, suspect what she might. For her reputation's sake, she must hold her tongue. Meanwhile, the old man glanced at his hand again, and, with a look of disgust, went through the action of wiping it. "Why, doctor--doctor!" he whispered; "don't say you've--!" "I couldn't help it, Moredock," said North excitedly. "It was in the struggle: it was a fight for life. We were both mad with rage, and I--I struck him." "Ay, ay, doctor; but you needn't ha' hit him so hard. Look at the blood! Deary, deary; and all this trouble about a gel." "I don't know how it happened," panted North, clinging tightly to the old man's arm. "I must have given him a terrible blow." "But it's a hanging matter, doctor--a hanging matter!" whispered the sexton. "Don't hold me, man; I didn't do it! I won't be dragged into it! I didn't know you'd go and do that!" "I didn't mean to, Moredock. It was in my rage." "But it's murder, doctor; it's murder, and they'll try you for your life!" "It must not be known. We must--" "Nay, nay: it isn't we," protested the old man. "It was you did it. I was skeered about you both getting wild, and I thought I'd be out of it, and came home." "But you must help me, Moredock! You shall help me, man!" "I can't help you, doctor: it's murder!" protested the sexton, trying to escape from the fierce grasp which held him. "It was not murder! It was fair fight!" cried North fiercely. "And, look here, man, you cannot help yourself. You must help me to hide this terrible night's work." The old man ceased struggling: for the doctor's words impressed him, and he felt how thoroughly they two were linked together.