be enough.  Even to leave him there, uncared for, till morning in the bleak wind, lying upon the cold ground, would be almost certain to put an end to his life.  But to the honour of Charles James Juxon be it said that such thoughts never crossed his mind.  He pulled off his heavy ulster greatcoat, wrapped it about the felon’s insensible body, then, kneeling, raised up his head and shoulders, got his strong arms well round him and with some difficulty rose to his feet.  Once upright, it was no hard matter to carry his burthen through the trees to the road, and up the avenue to his own door.

“Holmes,” said Mr. Juxon to his butler, “this man is badly hurt, but he is alive.  Help me to carry him upstairs.”

There was that in the squire’s voice which brooked neither question nor delay when he was in earnest.  The solemn butler took Walter Goddard by the feet and the squire took him by the shoulders; so they carried him up to a bedroom and laid him down, feeling for the bed in the dark as they moved.  Holmes then lit a candle with great calmness.

“Shall I send for the medical man, sir?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.  Send the gig as fast as possible.  If he is not at home, or cannot be found, send on to the town.  If anybody asks questions say the man is a tramp who attacked me in the park and Stamboul pulled him down.  Send at once, and bring me some brandy and light the fire here.”

“Yes, sir,” said Holmes, and left the room.

Mr. Juxon lighted other candles and examined the injured man.  There was now no doubt that he was alive.  He breathed faintly but regularly; his pulse beat less rapidly and more firmly.  His face was deadly pale and very thin, and his half-opened eyes stared unconsciously upwards, but they were not glazed nor death-like.  He seemed to have lost little blood, comparatively speaking.

“Bah!” ejaculated the squire.  “I believe he is only badly frightened, after all.”

Holmes brought brandy and warm water and again left the room.  Mr. Juxon bathed Goddard’s face and neck with a sponge, eying him suspiciously all the while.  It would not have surprised him at any moment if he had leaped from the bed and attempted to escape.  To guard against surprise, the squire locked the door and put the key in his pocket, watching the convict to see whether he noticed the act or was really unconscious.  But Goddard never moved nor turned his motionless eyeballs.  Mr. Juxon returned to his side, and with infinite care began to remove his clothes.  They were almost in rags.  He examined each article, and was surprised to find money in the pockets, amounting to nearly sixty pounds; then he smiled to himself, remembering that the convict had visited his wife and had doubtless got the money from her to aid him in his escape.  He put the notes and gold carefully together in a drawer after counting them, and returning to his occupation succeeded at last in putting Goddard to bed, after staunching his wounds as well as he could with handkerchiefs.