The Reverend Hartley Salis, M.A., rapidly rolled up his shirt-sleeves over his white arms; while it was observable that the nearly new scarlet hunting-coat worn by handsome Tom Candlish, of Candlish Hall, came off very slowly, possibly on account of its excellent fit. CHAPTER FIVE. THE DOCTOR'S PATIENTS WANT HIM AT HOME. "Ah! Horace, old man, back again?" "Yes. I should have come on sooner, but I--Hallo! gloves! Why, what's the matter with your hands?" "Oh! nothing. Rubbed the skin off my knuckles. That's all." "Humph!" said the curate's visitor--Horace North; and there was a curious twinkle in his eyes. "I say, I should have been over sooner, but I found a letter from Luke Candlish, asking me to go across to the Hall, as his brother was unwell." "Oh!" said the curate quietly. "Went over and found the squire nearly drunk. He's killing himself fast." "They're a nice pair," said the curate grimly. "More shame for you to say so," cried North. "They're your moral patients. You ought to improve them." "Yes," said the curate drily. "The squire was sober enough, though, to tell me that his brother had had a nasty accident--was going to the meet yesterday, when his horse bolted with him, and somehow raced off into Red Cliff Wood, where Tom was only able to check him right up at the top there, where the beast threw him and he fell crashing down from the top of the cliff to the bottom." "Into the stream?" said the curate quietly. "No; I didn't hear anything about the stream," said the doctor. "I went up and found him swearing at one of the maids because she was putting a poultice on his right eye too hot. Then he began to swear at me for not coming sooner. That raised my dander, and I told him I'd give him a dose that would keep him in bed for a month if he wasn't civil." "Yes?" "Well, then he cooled down and sent the maid away." "Yes?" "And I went to work. He has had one of the most curious falls I ever met with in practice. His eyes are closed up--beautiful pair of black eyes; lip cut; right canine tooth in upper jaw broken short off; several contusions on the lower jaw; rib broken; and the skin off his knuckles.--Been doing anything to your bees?" "Bees? What, this time of year? No. Why?" "Cheek looks a little puffy. Curious fall that of Tom Candlish. Looked more like having been in another prize-fight. Let me see your knuckles." "No; they're all right. Don't humbug, Horace, old man. You've guessed it. I gave him a most awful thrashing." "Bless you, my son!" cried the doctor, clapping him on the shoulder. "And I feel miserable at having disgraced myself so." "Nonsense! Church militant. Thrashed a confounded scoundrel. But what for? He has never had the insolence to--?" He gave his head a short nod towards the drawing-room. "Yes, and--There, I caught them together. He has been sending notes to her to meet him. I was in a passion, and he insulted me; and--and--"