"I can't talk and say things, d.i.c.ky," said Tom in a low half-choking voice; "but I want to comfort you. Don't break down, old fellow. The doctor will save his life."

This from the son of the man whom he believed to have shot his father!

and the rage d.i.c.k felt against the one seemed to be ready to fall upon the other. But as his eyes met those of his old school-fellow and companion full of sorrowful sympathy, d.i.c.k could only grasp Tom's hands, feeling that he was a true friend, and in no wise answerable for his father's sins.

"Ay, that's right," said a low, rough voice. "Nowt like sticking together and helping each other in trouble. Bud don't you fret, Mester d.i.c.k. Squire's a fine stark man, and the missus has happed him up waarm, and you see the doctor will set him right."

"Thank you, Hicky," said d.i.c.k, calming down; and then he stood thinking and asking himself how he could denounce the father of his old friend and companion as the man who, for some hidden reason of his own, was the plotter and executor of all these outrages.

At one moment he felt that he could not do this. At another there was the blank suffering face of his father before his eyes, seeming to ask him to revenge his injuries and to bring a scoundrel to justice.

For a time d.i.c.k was quite determined; but directly after there came before him the face of poor, kind-hearted Mrs Tallington, who had always treated him with the greatest hospitality, while, as he seemed to look at her eyes pleading upon her husband's behalf, Tom took his hand and wrung it.

"I'm going to stick by you, d.i.c.k," he said; "and you and I are going to find out who did this, and when we do we'll show him what it is to shoot at people, and burn people's homesteads, and hough their beasts."

d.i.c.k gazed at him wildly. Tom going to help him run his own father down and condemn him by giving evidence when it was all found out!

Impossible! Those words of his old companion completely disarmed him for the moment, and to finish his discomfiture, just then Farmer Tallington came out of the cottage looking whiter and more haggard than before.

He came to where the wheelwright was standing, and spoke huskily.

"I can't bear it," he said. "It is too horrible. Might hev been me, and what would my poor la.s.s do? Hickathrift, mun, the villain who does all this must be found out."

"Ay, farmer, but how?"

"I don't know how," said the farmer, gazing from one to the other. "I on'y know it must be done. If I'd gone on this morning I might have found out something, but I went back."

d.i.c.k gazed at him searchingly, but the farmer did not meet his eyes.

"I've been straange and fidgety ever since my fire," continued the farmer; "and it's med me get out o' bed o' nights and look round for fear of another. I was out o' bed towards morning last night, and as I looked I could see yonder on the mere what seemed to be a lanthorn."

"You saw that?" said d.i.c.k involuntarily.

"Ay, lad, I saw that," said the farmer, rubbing his hands together softly; "and first of all I thowt it was a will-o'-the-wisp, but it didn't go about like one o' they, and as it went out directly and came again, I thought it was some one wi' a light."

"What, out on the watter?" said Hickathrift.

"Yes, my lad; out on the watter," said the farmer; "and that med me say to mysen: What's any one doing wi' a light out on the watter at this time? and I could on'y think as they wanted it to set fire to some one's plaace, and I couldn't stop abed and think that. So I got up, and went down to the sh.o.r.e, got into my owd punt, and loosed her, and went out torst wheer I'd seen the light."

"And did you see it, mester?" said Hickathrift.

"Nay, my lad. I went on and on as quietly as I could go, and round the reed-bed, but all was as quiet as could be."

"Didn't you see the poont?" said the wheelwright.

"What punt?" said Tom sharply.

Hickathrift looked confused.

"Poont o' him as hed the light, I meant," he said hurriedly.

"Nay, not a sign of it," said Farmer Tallington; "and at last I turned back and poled gently home, keeping a sharp look-out and listening all the way, but I niver see nowt nor heered nowt. But if I'd kept out on the waiter I should p'raps have seen and saved my poor owd neighbour."

"You might, mebbe," said the wheelwright thoughtfully; while, after gazing in the faces of the two men and trying to read the truth, d.i.c.k turned away with his suspicions somewhat blunted, to go to his mother's side, and watch with her till the sound of hoofs on the rough track told that the messenger had returned.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

THE DOCTOR'S DICTUM.

d.i.c.k leaped up and came to the window as soon as he heard the beating of the horse's hoofs; and to his great joy, as the mounted man turned the corner he saw that it was the doctor, whom he ran down to meet.

"Hah, my lad! here is a bad business!" exclaimed the doctor as he dismounted. "Well, come, they cannot say this was your doing. You wouldn't shoot your own father, eh?"

"Oh, pray, come up, sir, and don't talk," cried d.i.c.k excitedly. "Poor father is dying!"

"Oh, no," said the doctor; "we must not let him die."

"But be quick, sir! You are so long!" cried d.i.c.k.

"Don't be impatient, my lad," said the doctor smiling. "We folks have to be calm and quiet in all we do. Now show me the way."

d.i.c.k led him to the room, the doctor beckoning Hickathrift to follow; and as soon as he reached the injured man's side he quietly sent Mrs Winthorpe and d.i.c.k to wait in the next room, retaining the great wheelwright to help him move his patient.

The time seemed interminable, and as mother and son sat waiting, every word spoken in the next room sounded like a moan from the injured man.

Mrs Winthorpe's face appeared to be that of a woman ten years older, and her agony was supreme; but like a true wife and tender mother--ah, how little we think of what a mother's patience and self-denial are when we are young!--she devoted her whole energies to administering comfort to her sorely-tried son.

A dozen times over d.i.c.k felt that he could not keep the secret that troubled him--that he must tell his mother his suspicions and ask her advice; but so sure as he made up his mind to speak, the fear that he might be wrong troubled him, and he forebore.

Then began the whole struggle again, and at last he was nearer than ever to confiding his horrible belief in their neighbour's treachery, when the doctor suddenly appeared.

d.i.c.k rose from where he had been kneeling by his mother's side, and she started from her seat to grasp the doctor's hand.

She did not speak, but her eyes asked the one great question of her heart, and then, as the doctor's hard sour face softened and he smiled, Mrs Winthorpe uttered a piteous sigh and clasped her hands together in thankfulness to Heaven.

"Then he is not very bad, doctor?" cried d.i.c.k joyfully.

"Yes, my boy, he is very bad indeed, and dangerously wounded," replied the doctor; "but, please G.o.d, I think I can pull him through."

"Tell me--tell me!" faltered Mrs Winthorpe piteously.

"It is a painful thing to tell a lady," said the doctor kindly; "but I will explain. Mrs Winthorpe, he has a terrible wound. The bullet has pa.s.sed obliquely through his chest; it was just within the skin at the back, and I have successfully extracted it. As far as I can tell there is no important organ injured, but at present I am not quite sure.

Still I think I may say he is in no immediate danger."

Mrs Winthorpe could not trust herself to speak, but she looked her thanks and glided toward the other room.

"Do not speak to him and do not let him speak," whispered the doctor.

"Everything depends upon keeping him perfectly still, so that nature may not be interrupted in doing her portion of the work."