Two or three times Billy had to stop the donkey, while he dragged large branches out of the way. They were almost on the point of turning back again when Dorothy said-- "Is that the trunk of a tree, Billy, lying across the road?" "Well, miss, I was just a-wonderin' myself what it were. It don't look like a tree exactly." "And yet I cannot imagine what else it can be." "Shall we drive on that far and see, miss?" "I think we had better, Billy, though I did not intend going quite so far." A few minutes later Billy uttered an exclamation. "Why, miss, it looks for all the world like a man!" "Drive quickly," she said; "I believe somebody's been hurt!" It did not take them long to reach the spot where Ralph Penlogan was lying. Dorothy recognised him in a moment, and forgetting her weakness, she sprang out of her bath-chair and ran and knelt down by his side. He presented a rather ghastly appearance. The extreme pallor of his face was accentuated by large splotches of blood. His eyelids were partly open, showing the whites of his eyes. His lips were tightly shut as if in pain. Dorothy wondered at her own calmness and nerve. She had no disposition to faint or to cry out. She placed her ear close to Ralph's mouth and remained still for several seconds. Then she sprang quickly to her feet. "Unharness the donkey, Billy," she said, in quick, decided tones, "and ride into St. Goram and fetch Dr. Barrow!" "Yes, miss." And in a few seconds Billy was galloping away as fast as the donkey could carry him. Dorothy watched him until he had passed beyond the gate and was out on the common. Then she turned her attention again to Ralph. That he was unconscious was clear, but he was not dead. There were evidences also that he had scrambled a considerable distance after he was struck. For several moments she stood and looked at him, then she sat down by his side. He gave a groan at length and tried to sit up, and she got closer to him, and made his head comfortable on her lap. After a while he opened his eyes and looked with a bewildered expression into her face. "Who are you?" he asked abruptly, and he made another effort to sit up. "You had better lie still," she said gently. "You have got hurt, and Dr. Barrow will be here directly." "I haven't got hurt," he said, in decided tones, "and I don't want to lie still. But who are you?" "Don't you remember me?" she questioned. "No, I don't," he said, in the same decisive way. "You are not Ruth, and I don't know who you are, nor why you keep me here." "I am not keeping you," she answered quietly. "You are unable to walk, but I have sent for the doctor, and he will bring help." For a while he did not speak, but his eyes searched her face with a puzzled and baffled look. "You are very pretty," he said at length. "But you are not Ruth." "No; I am Dorothy Hamblyn," she answered. He knitted his brows and looked at her intently, then he tried to shake his head.