was not the man to lose his head on an emergency, but now,
as he bent over the helpless paralytic, and tried to read his wants in
the eyes that looked up into his, he found it needed a mighty effort to
pull himself together and resolve how to act.

He must go for the doctor, five miles away. There was no one else about
the place who could cover the ground as quickly. But if he went, he
must leave the sufferer to the tender mercies of Raffles and the
housekeeper--a prospect at which Mr Armstrong shuddered; especially
when the latter self-important functionary entered, talking at large,
and proposing half a dozen contradictory specifics in the short passage
from the door to the sick-couch.

Mr Armstrong only delayed to suggest meekly that his impression was
that a warm bath would, under the circumstances, be of benefit, and
then, not waiting for the contemptuous "Much you know about it" which
the suggestion evoked, he set off.

It was no light task on a night like this to plough through the snow for
five miles in search of help, and the lanes to Yeld were, even in open
weather, none of the easiest. But the tutor was not the kind of man to
trouble himself about difficulties of that sort, provided only he could
find the doctor in, and transport him in a reasonable time to Maxfield.

As he passed the stables, he glanced within, on the off-chance of
finding a horse available. But the place was empty, and not even a
stable-boy could be made to hear his summons.

So he tramped out into the road, where the snow lay a foot deep, and
with long strides carved his way through it towards Yeld. Half a mile
on he overtook a country cart, heavily laden and stuck fast in the snow.

"Ah! Hodder," said he to the nonplussed old man in charge, "you may as
well give it up."

"So I are without your telling," growled the countryman.

"Very well; I want your horse for a couple of hours. The Squire's ill,
and I have to fetch the doctor."

And without another word, and heedless of the ejaculations of the
bewildered Hodder, he began to loose the animal's girths.

"I'm blamed if you have a hair of him," said the yokel.

"I don't want one. Here!" and he pitched him a half-crown. The man
gaped stupidly at the unharnessing of his beast, and began to pump up
for another protest.

But before the words were ready, Mr Armstrong had led the horse out of
the shafts and had vaulted on his bare back.

"Eh," sputtered Hodder, "may I--"