He made a dash for the door, but staggered, and would have fallen had not Barclay caught him and helped him to a chair, where he sat gazing before him as if at some scene passing before his eyes. "Blood," he whispered at last, "to the head. Help me, Barclay, or I shall be too late." "No, stay here. I'll go and do all I can." "No!" cried Denville fiercely. "I am her father, Barclay; we may save her--if I go too." He rose with nervous energy now, and gripping the money-lender's arm they went together out into the dark street, where, indignantly refusing further help, the old man strode off, leaving Barclay watching him. "I don't hardly know what to do," he said musingly. "Ah! who are you?" "His lordship's man, sir," said a livery servant. "Lord Carboro' says could you make it convenient to come to him directly?" "No, I'm busy. Well, yes, I will. Is he at home?" "No, sir; at the reading-room." "Go on, then," said Barclay. "Tell his lordship I'll be there directly." The man went off, and Barclay hurried indoors to speak with his wife, and came out five minutes later to join the old nobleman at the reading-room that answered the purpose of a club. Volume Three, Chapter VI. ON THE DOWNS. High up on the Downs behind the town lay a patch of wood, dwarfed and stunted in its growth by the sharp breezes that came off the sea. The soil in which they grew, too, was exceedingly shallow; and, as the chalk beneath was not very generous in its supply of nutriment, the trees sent their roots along the surface, and their low-spreading branches inland, with a few shabby twigs seaward to meet the cutting blasts. Right through this patch of thick low wood ran the London Road, and across it the coast road, going west, while a tall finger-post that had once been painted stood with outstretched arms, bending over a little old grey milestone, as if it were blessing it for being so humble and so small. It was along this road that Richard Linnell, Mellersh, and James Bell had cantered, and then turned off at the cross, on the night of their pursuit, and the chalky way looked much the same beneath twinkling stars on the night succeeding the day when Louis Gravani had had his interview with Claire, as on that of Mrs Pontardent's party. The similarity was increased by the presence of a yellow post-chaise; but it was not drawn up at the back of Mrs Pontardent's garden, but here on the short turf close up to the trees and opposite the finger-post.