the side road on the left, there came the loud clatter of a cart, and a
young horse emerged almost at a gallop, with a man tugging vainly at its
rein.

Ten minutes later a group of men stood consulting by the side of the road
over Faversham's prostrate form. He was unconscious; his head and face
were covered with blood, and his left ankle was apparently broken. A
small open motor stood at the bottom of the hill, and an angry dispute
was going on between an old man in mire-stained working-clothes, and the
young doctor from Pengarth to whom the motor belonged.

"I say, Mr. Dixon, that you've got to take this man into Mr. Melrose's
house and look after him, till he is fit to be moved farther, or you'll
be guilty of his death, and I shall give evidence accordingly!" said the
doctor, with energy, as he raised himself from the injured man.

"Theer's noa place for him i' t' Tower, Mr. Undershaw, an' I'll take noa
sich liberty!"

"Then I will. Where's Mr. Melrose?"

"I' London--till to-morrow. Yo'll do nowt o' t' soart, doctor."

"We shall see. To carry him half a mile to the farm, when you might carry
him just across that bridge to the house, would be sheer murder. I won't
see it done. And if you do it, you'll be indicted for manslaughter. Now
then--why doesn't that hurdle come along?" The speaker looked impatiently
up the road; and, as he spoke, a couple of labourers appeared at the top
of the hill, carrying a hurdle between them.