Dr. Preston up to see Nathan and Hester first, and
then I reckon th' broken-legged chap down
below must have his turn, for all as he's met wi'
his misfortunes in a wrong line o' life."

"Ay!" said Bessy. "We mun ha' the doctor
sure enough, for look at them how they lie!
like two stone statues on a church monument, so
sad and solemn."

"There's a look o' sense come back into their
faces, though, sin' they supped that gin-and-
water. I'd keep on a-bathing his head and giving
them a sup on't fra time to time, if I was you,
Bessy."

Bessy followed him down stairs, and lighted
the men out of the house. She dared not light
them carrying their burden even, until they
passed round the corner of the house; so strong
was her fearful conviction that Benjamin was
lurking near, seeking again to enter. She rushed
back into the kitchen, bolted and barred the
door, and pushed the end of the dresser against
it, shutting her eyes as she passed the
uncurtained window, for fear of catching a glimpse of
a white face pressed against the glass, and gazing
at her. The poor old couple lay quiet and
speechless, although Hester's position had
slightly altered: she had turned a little on her
side towards her husband, and had laid one
shrivelled arm around his neck. But he was
just as Bessy had left him, with the wet clothes
around his head, his eyes not wanting in a
certain intelligence, but solemn, and unconscious to
all that was passing around as the eyes of death.

His wife spoke a little from time to time—
said a word of thanks, perhaps, or so; but he,
never. All the rest of that terrible night Bessy
tended the poor old couple with constant care,
her own heart so stunned and bruised in its feelings
that she went about her pious duties almost
like one in a dream. The November morning
was long in coming; nor did she perceive any
change either for the worse or the better before
the doctor came, about eight o'clock. John
Kirkby brought him; and was full of the
capture of the two burglars.

As far as Bessy could make out, the participation
of that unnatural Third was unknown; it
was a relief, almost sickening in the revulsion it
gave her from her terrible fear, which now she felt
had haunted and held possession of her all night
long, and had in fact paralysed her from thinking.
Now she felt and thought with acute and
feverish vividness, owing no doubt in part to
the sleepless night she had passed. She felt
almost sure that her uncle (possibly her aunt
too) had recognised Benjamin; but there was a
faint chance that they had not done so, and
wild horses should never tear the secret from her,
nor should any inadvertent word betray the fact
that there had been a third person concerned.
As to Nathan, he had never uttered a word.
It was her aunt's silence that made Bessy fear
lest Hester knew, somehow, that her son was
concerned.

The doctor examined them both closely;
looked hard at the wound on Nathan's head;
asked questions which Hester answered shortly
and unwillingly, and Nathan not at all: shutting
his eyes as if even the sight of a stranger was
pain to him. Bessy replied in their stead to all
that she could answer respecting their state;
and followed the doctor down stairs with a beating
heart. When they came into the houseplace,
they found John had opened the outer
door to let in some fresh air, had brushed
the hearth and made up the fire, and put the
chairs and table in their right places. He
reddened a little as Bessy's eye fell upon his swollen
and battered face, but tried to smile it off in a
dry kind of way.

"Yo' see I'm an ould bachelor, and I just
thought as I'd redd up things a bit. How dun
yo' find 'em, doctor?"

"Well, the poor old couple have had a terrible
shock. I shall send them some soothing medicine
to bring down the pulse, and a lotion for the old
man's head. It is very well it bled so much;
there might have been a good deal of inflammation."
And so he went on, giving directions to
Bessy for keeping them quietly in bed through
the day. From these directions she gathered
that they were not, as she had feared all night
long, near to death. The doctor expected them
to recover, though they would require care.
She almost wished it had been otherwise, and
that they, and she too, might have just lain down
to their rest in the churchyard—so cruel did life
seem to her; so dreadful the recollection of that
subdued voice of the hidden robber, smiting her
with recognition.

All this time John was getting things ready
for breakfast, with something of the handiness
of a woman. Bessy half resented his officiousness
in pressing Dr. Preston to have a cup of
tea, she did so want him to begone and leave
her alone with her thoughts. She did not know
that all was done for love of her; that the hard-
featured, short-spoken John was thinking all the
time how ill and miserable she looked, and
trying with tender artifices to make it incumbent
upon her sense of hospitality to share Dr.
Preston's meal.

"I've seen as the cows is milked," said he,
"yourn and all; and Atkinson's brought ours
round fine. Whatten a marcy it were as she
were sick just very night! Yon two chaps
'ud ha' made short work on't if yo' hadna fetched
us in; and as it were we had a sore tussle. One
on 'em 'll bear the marks on't to his dying day,
wunnot he, doctor?"

"He'll barely have his leg well enough to
stand his trial at York Assizes; they're coming
off in a fortnight from now."

"Ay, and that reminds me, Bessy, yo'll have
to go witness before Justice Royds. Constables
bade me tell yo', and gie yo' this summons.
Dunnot be feared; it will not be a long job,
though I'm not saying as it 'll be a pleasant one.
Yo'll have to answer questions as to how, and
all about it; and Jane" (his sister) "will come
and stop wi' th' oud folks; and I'll drive yo' in
the shandry."

No one knew why Bessy's colour blenched, and
her eye clouded. No one knew how she