A warmer gleam lighted up the vagrant’s face. “John Musgrave here! Ah, but it’s well timed,” he cried feebly. “My young lord, I’m grieved but for one thing,--the old woman. Who will take care of old ’Lizabeth’? and she’s been a good woman--if it had not been her son that went between her and her wits. I’m sorry for her, poor old body; very, very sorry for her, poor ’Lizabeth. He’ll never be taken now, my young lord. Now he’s killed me, there’s none will ever take him. And so we’ll all be ended, and the old woman left to die without one--without one----!” “My cart is at the foot of the hill,” said Geoff, quickly, addressing the labourer, who stood by with tears in his eyes; “take it, and bid the groom drive as fast as the horse will go--and he’s fresh--for the first doctor you can find; and bid them send an easy carriage from Stanton--quick! For every moment you save I’ll give you----” “I want no giving. What a man can do for poor Dick Bampfylde, I will,” cried the other as he rushed down the slope. The vagrant smiled feebly again. “They’re all good-hearted,” he said. “Not one of them but would do poor Dick Bampfylde a good turn; that’s a pleasure, my young lord. And you--you’re the best of all. Ay, let him go, it’ll please you; but me, my hour’s come.” “Bampfylde, does it hurt you to speak? Can you tell me how it was?” The poor fellow’s eyes were glazing over. He made an effort, when Geoff’s voice caught him as it were, and arrested the stupor. “Eh, my young lord? What needs to tell? Poor creature, he did not know me for a friend, far less a brother. And madness is strong--it’s strong. Tell the old woman that--it was not _me_ he killed--but--one that tried to take him. Ay--we were all playing about the beck, and her calling us to come in--all the family; him and--Lily--and me. I was always the least account--but it was me that would aye be first to answer;--and now we are all coming home--Poor old ’Lizabeth--Eh! what were you saying, my young lord?” “Bampfylde! has he got clean off again, after this? Where is he? Can you tell me--for the sake of others if not for your own?” “For mine!--Would it mend me to tell upon him?--Nay, nay, you’ll never take him--never now--but he’ll die--like the rest of us--that is what puts things square, my young lord--death!--it settles all; you’ll find him some place on the green turf--we were aye a family that liked the green grass underneath us--you’ll find him--as peaceable as me.” “Oh, Bampfylde,” cried Geoff, “keep up your courage a little, the men will come directly and carry you to Stanton.”