sir," he remarked. "Hold up."

He caught the young man in his arms. There was another roar in Gerald's
ears besides the roar of the wind. He had never fainted in his life, but
the feeling was upon him now--a deadly sickness, a swaying of the earth.
The porter suddenly gave a little cry.

"If I'm not a born idiot!" he exclaimed, drawing a bottle from the
pocket of his coat with his disengaged hand. "There's whisky here. I was
taking it home to the missis for her rheumatism. Now, then."

He drew the cork from the bottle with his teeth and forced some of the
liquid between the lips of the young man. The voices now were coming
nearer and nearer. Gerald made a desperate effort.

"I am all right," he declared. "Let's look after him."

They groped their way towards the unconscious man, Gerald still gripping
the dressing-case with both hands. There were no signs of any change
in his condition, but he was still breathing heavily. Then they heard a
shout behind, almost in their ears. The porter staggered to his feet.

"It's all right now, sir!" he exclaimed. "They've brought blankets and a
stretcher and brandy. Here's a doctor, sir."

A powerful-looking man, hatless, and wrapped in a great ulster, moved
towards them.

"How many are there of you?" he asked, as he bent over Mr. Dunster.

"Only we two," Gerald replied. "Is my friend badly hurt?"

"Concussion," the doctor announced. "We'll take him to the village. What
about you, young man? Your face is bleeding, I see."

"Just a cut," Gerald faltered; "nothing else."

"Lucky chap," the doctor remarked. "Let's get him to shelter of some
sort. Come along. There's an inn at the corner of the lane there."

They all staggered along, Gerald still clutching the dressing-case,
and supported on the other side by an excited and somewhat incoherent
villager.

"Such a storm as never was," the latter volunteered. "The telegraph
wires are all down for miles and miles. There won't be no trains running
along this line come many a week, and as for trees--why, it's as though
some one had been playing ninepins in Squire Fellowes's park. When the
morning do come, for sure there will be things to be seen. This way,
sir. Be careful of the gate."

They staggered along down the lane, climbing once over a tree which lay
across the lane and far into the adjoining field. Soon they were joined
by more of the villagers, roused from their beds by rumours of terrible
happenings. The little, singl