Gilbert was stunned and hardly conscious, and when he found himself on his feet, he staggered and fell against a wall. Some soldiers riding up, chased a band of rioters out of Clare Street, and Gilbert saw the great giant who had delivered him felled by a sabre cut. The crowd passed over him, and when it had cleared, Gilbert, himself feeble and exhausted, bent over the man, and tried to drag him nearer the houses. He was bleeding profusely, and hailing a cart passing to the Infirmary with two wounded men, Gilbert begged the driver in charge, to raise the prostrate man, and take him also to the Infirmary. It was no easy matter, but at last it was accomplished, and a pair of dark, blood-shot eyes were turned on Gilbert. The man tried to articulate, but no sound came. As the cart was moving off, Gilbert saw he made a desperate effort. He raised his hand, and cried out with all his remaining strength, "Tell your good lady I kept my word, and I saved you from harm!" "Stop!" Gilbert said to the driver, "stop; this man has saved my life. I must come to the Infirmary to see he has proper care and attention." "You look fit for a 'ospital bed yourself, sir," said the man. "Jump up, and I'll take you for a consideration," he added, with a knowing twinkle of his eye. Faint and exhausted himself, Gilbert saw the wounded man placed in one of the wards with the others, whose condition was less serious, and, bending over the man, he said: "I recognise you now. You are Bob Priday?" The man nodded assent. "I've been a bad 'un," he said. "I went in for these riots, 'cause I was sick of my life; but I'd like to see your good lady once more, and poor little Sue. Her mother used to reckon her next to a saint, as she sat learning her hymns. I've scoffed and jeered at 'em, and sent the boys to the bad, and threatened the squire. I did not kill him, though; and yet, what do you think, she, the squire's daughter, your good lady, bid _God bless me_, and let me touch her hand; why, ever since I've kinder felt that if _she_ could pardon, God might." "He _will_ pardon the chief of sinners, for Christ's sake," said Gilbert. The man's wound was bleeding profusely, and he soon became confused and wandering; and his face assumed a livid hue as Gilbert bent over him. "My wife will not forget that you saved my life," he said; "and I know if it is possible she will come and see you, and bring your daughter with her." "He is nearly unconscious," said the surgeon. "Dear me! sir, what a time this is for Bristol. This is the sixth case brought in since noon. God knows where the riots will end! You were sworn in as a special constable, I suppose?" "Yes, but to little purpose. Resistance is useless, unless well organised." "That's true enough; but there is no head, that's the mischief of it; no head anywhere. Do you live in Bristol, sir?" "In Great George Street; I am returning there now. You will look after this man?"