Bessy was back in a very few minutes. When
she came in, there was more light in the houseplace,
for some one had stirred up the raked fire.

"That felly makes as though his leg were
broken," said John, nodding towards the man
still lying on the ground. Bessy felt almost
sorry for him as they handled him—not over
gently— and bound him, only half-conscious, as
hardly and tightly as they had done his fierce,
surly companion. She even felt so sorry for his
evident agony, as they turned him over and over,
that she ran to get him a cup of water to
moisten his lips,

"I'm loth to leave yo' with him alone," said
John, "though I'm thinking his leg is broken
for sartain, and he can't stir, even if he comes to
hissel, to do yo' any harm. But we'll just take
off this chap, and make sure of him, and then
one on us 'll come back to yo', and we can,
mebby, find a gate or so for yo' to get shut on
him out o' th' house. This felly's made safe
enough, I'll be bound," said he, looking at the
burglar, who stood, bloody and black, with fell hatred
on his sullen face. His eye caught Bessy's as
hers fell on him with dread so evident that it
made him smile, and the look and the smile
prevented the words from being spoken which were
on Bessy's lips. She dared not tell, before him,
that an able-bodied accomplice still remained in
the house, lest, somehow, the door which kept
him a prisoner should be broken open, and the
fight renewed. So she only said to John, as he
was leaving the house:

"Thou'lt not be long away, for I'm afeard of
being left wi' this man."

"He'll noan do thee harm," said John.

"No! but I'm feared lest he should die. And
there's uncle and aunt. Come back soon, John!"

"Ay, ay!" said he, half-pleased; I'll be back,
never fear me."

So Bessy shut the door after them, but did
not lock if for fear of mischances in the house,
and went once more to her uncle, whose breathing,
by this time, was easier than when she had
first returned into the houseplace with John and
the doctor. By the light of the fire, too, she
could now see that he had received a blow on
the head which was probably the occasion of his
stupor. Round this wound, which was now
bleeding pretty freely, Bessy put cloths dipped
in cold water, and then, leaving him for a time,
she lighted a candle, and was about to go up-
stairs to her aunt, when, just as she was passing
the bound and disabled robber, she heard her
name softly, urgently called.

"Bessy, Bessy!" At first the voice sounded
so close that she thought it must be the
unconscious wretch at her feet. But once again that
voice thrilled through her:

"Bessy, Bessy! for God's sake, let me out!"

She went to the stair-closet door, and tried to
speak, but could not, her heart beat so terribly.
Again, close to her ear:

"Bessy, Bessy! they'll be back directly; let
me out, I say! For God's sake, let me out!" And
he began to kick violently against the panels.

"Hush, hush!" she said, sick with a terrible
dread, yet with a will strongly resisting her
conviction. "Who are you ?" But she knew—
knew quite well.

"Benjamin." An oath. "Let me out, I
say, and I'll be off, and out of England by
tomorrow night never to come back, and you'll
have all my father's money."

"D'ye think I care for that," said Bessy,
vehemently, feeling with trembling hands for the
lock; "I wish there was noan such a thing as
money i' the world, afore yo'd come to this.
There, yo're free, and I charge yo' never to let
me see your face again. I'd ne'er ha let yo'
loose but for fear o' breaking their hearts, if yo'
hanna killed them already." But, before she had
ended her speech, he was gone—off into the black
darkness, leaving the door open wide. With a
new terror in her mind Bessy shut it afresh—
shut it and bolted it this time. Then she sat
down on the first chair, and relieved her soul
by giving a great and exceeding bitter cry. But
she knew it was no time for giving way, and,
lifting herself up with as much effort as if each
of her limbs was a heavy weight, she went into
the back-kitchen, and took a drink of cold
water. To her surprise she heard her uncle's
voice, saying feebly:

"Carry me up, and lay me by her."

But Bessy could not carry him; she could only
help his faint exertions to walk up-stairs; and,
by the time he was there sitting panting on the
first chair she could find, John Kirkby and
Atkinson returned. John came up now to her
aid. Her aunt lay across the bed in a fainting fit,
and her uncle sat in so utterly broken-down a
state that Bessy feared immediate death for both.
But John cheered her up, and lifted the old man
into his bed again, and, while Bessy tried to
compose poor Hester's limbs into a position of
rest, John went down to hunt about for the
little store of gin which was always kept in a
corner cupboard against emergencies.

"They've had a sore fright," said he, shaking
his head, as he poured a little gin and hot water
into their mouths with a teaspoon, while Bessy
chafed their cold feet; "and it and the cold
have been welly too much for 'em, poor old folk!"

He looked tenderly at them, and Bessy blessed
him in her heart—blessed him unaware, for that
look.

"I mun be off. I sent Atkinson up to th'
farm for to bring down Bob, and Jack came wi'
him back to th' shippon for to look after other
man. He began blackguarding us all round, so
Bob and Jack were gagging him wi' bridles
when I left,"

"Ne'er give heed to what he says," cried
poor Bessy, a new panic besetting her. "Folks
o' his sort are allays for dragging other folks
into their mischief.  I'm right glad he were well
gagged."

"Well! but what I were saying were this.
Atkinson and me will take t'other chap, who
seems quiet enough, to th' shippon, and it 'll be
one piece o' work for to mind them, and the
cow; and I'll saddle old bay mare, and ride for
constables and doctor fra Highminster. I'll bring