"How long—have I lain here?"
"Not more'n the space of half a minute, sir. And no more you mustn't. I be going for to call them at the Parsonage."
"Nay, nay, Tom, I should alarm them, in this plight."
"Never fear for that, sir. It would alarm 'em more for you to die!"
And Tom hobbled away in the direction of the vicar's house at a great rate.
As he lay there in the cold air, Tregenna was vaguely conscious of a feeling of satisfaction that Gardener Tom had turned to honest ways. And then his mind began to wander again. He was recalled to full consciousness by a delicious sense of ease and peace, and by feeling the touch of the hand he loved the best in the world on his forehead.
A few minutes afterwards he was lying on a hastily made bed in the vicarage parlor.
Tregenna lay ill for some weeks; for the wound inflicted by Bill's bullet was a serious one, and he had lost so much blood before he was discovered by Tom, that there was a fear lest he might not be able to stand the drain.
