"Who's to lie still with his head on fire?" growled the injured man. "Here, ring for some brandy." "You mean for the undertaker," said Salis coolly. "No; the brandy," snarled Tom Candlish. "I'm sick and faint." "And you'll be more sick and more faint if you take spirits now. There, lie still, and I'll try and cool your head with this sponge and water." For the butler had re-entered, and for the next half hour the curious spectacle was visible of Hartley Salis playing the good Samaritan, with all the knowledge of experience, to the man who was doing his best to bring ruin and misery upon his peaceful home. The delicate, almost feminine touch, soothed the pain Tom Candlish suffered; and he lay quietly upon the pillow, looking up at the curate, wondering whether he would do this if he knew all, and what he would say if he knew that he had deluded Leo into leaving her room night after night, to grant him meetings in the old vestry time after time, in spite of all that had been said. The butler had gone, and Tom Candlish was lying with his eyes half closed, thinking about his last meeting with Leo, of the coming of the doctor, of their encounter, and of the way in which he had been struck down, when just after Salis had carefully laid a cool, moist towel upon his aching head, the door softly opened, and the baronet started up in bed with his ghastly face distorted as he uttered quite a yell. "Ah, Horace, old fellow!" cried the curate excitedly. "I have been reproaching myself for not coming down to you. Here is my excuse. I'm so glad you've come." "Keep him off! Send him away!" yelled Tom Candlish, trying vainly to get to the other side of the bed, as North stood pale, choking, and suffering in the doorway. "Don't take any notice," continued Salis; "a bit delirious, I'm afraid;" and then he gazed wonderingly at his friend as, with a fierce, implacable look, North strode up to the bed. Volume 2, Chapter XIX. DOCTOR AND PATIENT. "Keep him off! He wants to murder me!" "My good fellow," said Salis sternly, "you are trying to murder yourself. Sit still, or I'll hold you down. If you don't know what's good for yourself, it's fit some one should." "But I tell you--" "And I tell you," cried Salis angrily, for Tom Candlish's fierce obstinacy was teaching him that the clerical garb and years of mental repression will not quite crush out the natural man. "It's very good of you to come, North," he said, crossing to his friend. "Getting up out of a sick bed, too, for the cause of this brute. I wish sometimes that education did not force us to be so extremely benevolent and philanthropic over _mauvais sujets_; but it does. Are you better?" "Yes," said North hastily; and his face being free from marks, he was able to confront his friend boldly. "I knew there was no doctor within reach, and I was afraid the case might be turning serious. Let's see."