“Help me to raise him,” said the minister quietly, though his blood ran cold at the spectacle before him. “Do you not think, Charles, that you could find a little water?” The boy was off almost before the sentence was concluded. “Jones, we must draw off his jacket very gently,—softly, you pain him; we must examine his hurts.” With a hand gentle as a woman’s, Mr. Ewart removed the garment from the half senseless sufferer, to stanch the blood, and ascertain the amount of his injuries. But he had scarcely laid bare the poor bruised shoulders of the boy, when he started with an expression of such extreme surprise that Jones looked in wonder to see what could be its cause. “Is it possible!” exclaimed the clergyman, “can it be really so! Yes, for the countenance confirms it, so like the mother; it struck me the first moment that I saw him! And the woman—ah!” he cried, pressing his hand on his forehead, “I remember she would not see me; she dared not, the base—the treacherous! It must be so; I see all now—but the motive, what could be the motive!” “Please, sir,” said Jones, touching his hat, “shall I go to yonder cottage for assistance?” “Carry the boy to the carriage;—no, I will bear him myself; it is not the first time that he has been in my arms. And listen, Jones, say not a word of what we have found, but seek out two or three stout labourers at once; the police would be better, but we must not lose time, everything depends upon secrecy and despatch.” While the wondering servant went in search of the required aid, Mr. Ewart, with feelings almost resembling those of a father, after binding with his own handkerchief and neckcloth Mark’s most severe wounds, gently carried him to where the carriage stood waiting. Once the poor boy unclosed his eyes, and uttered an exclamation of pleasure on recognizing the clergyman, but he seemed almost too feeble to speak. Mr. Ewart had scarcely reached the high road when he was joined by Lord Fontonore, who, flushed and panting in the eagerness of his haste, brought some cold water in his cap. “Go back with him, Charles, to the house which we have just left, and call upon the surgeon in your way. Oh, be tender with him, as if he were your brother!” the clergyman’s voice trembled as he spoke. “And you—” “I have a sterner duty to perform, but it is one of the utmost importance. There, support the poor fellow’s head on your breast, you see that the water has made him revive; all will be right yet, by the blessing of Heaven!” As the carriage was turned round, and driven rapidly towards Marshdale, Jones came up with two powerful-looking ploughmen, and almost at the same time Mr. Searle, who was walking along the road, reached the spot where they were now standing together.