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The young man's face was ghastly in the light of the moon. He clutched at Mr Dott, who retreated in alarm, but who came forward when he realised the truth. This was a sick man with no purpose of hostility; his clothes were stained, and one coat-sleeve was torn, but they had once been fashionable; his cravat was wildly disordered, but it was of fine cambric; his countenance was dirty and blood-smeared, but the features showed breeding. Mr Dott was reassured.
"Hold up, sir," he said, giving him his arm. Then to the minister, "We must get him inbye, for this garden is no place for a dwam. Your study sofa is the bit for him."