Dixon threw looks of mingled wrath and perplexity at the doctor, and the
men.

"I tell yo', doctor, it conno' be done! Muster Melrose's orders mun be
obeyed. I have noa power to admit onybody to his house withoot his leave.
Yo' knaw yoursel'," he added in the doctor's ear, "what Muster Melrose
is."

Undershaw muttered something--expressing either wrath or scorn--behind
his moustache; then said aloud:

"Never you mind, Dixon; I shall take the responsibility. You let me
alone. Now, my boys, lend a hand with the hurdle, and give me some
coats."

Faversham's leg had been already placed in a rough splint and his head
bandaged. They lifted him, quite unconscious, upon the hurdle, and made
him as comfortable as they could. The doctor anxiously felt his pulse,
and directed the men to carry him, as carefully as possible, through a
narrow gate in the high wall opposite which was standing open, across the
private foot-bridge over the stream, and so to the Terrace whereon stood
Threlfall Tower. Impenetrably hidden as it was behind the wall and the
trees, the old house was yet, in truth, barely sixty yards away. Dixon
followed, lamenting and protesting, but in vain.

"Hold your tongue, man!" said Undershaw at last, losing his temper. "You
disgrace your master. It would be a public scandal to refuse to help a
man in this plight! If we get him alive through to-night, it will be a
mercy. I believe the cart's been over him somewhere!" he added, with a
frowning brow.