"I came out here for breath. It was so close in the rooms," said the baronet, gently.

Lady Rose glanced at the house. It was still brilliantly lighted. The windows were all open, and a soft breeze was playing with the frost-like curtains, just as it had when she heard that shot, and fled down the terrace. The music was hushed, and the rooms were almost empty; that was all the change that appeared to her. Yet it seemed as if years had pa.s.sed since she stood on that terrace.

"But we shall hear soon. Oh, tell me!"

"Yes, my child. They know that I am waiting."

The baronet strove to speak calmly, for the suppression of strong feeling had been the education of his life; but his voice shook, and he turned his head aside, to avoid the piteous glance of those great, blue eyes that were so full of tears.

"Go--go up to your room, Lady Rose," said the baronet, after a moment's severe struggle with himself. "In my selfish grief I had forgotten everything. Was Jessup alive when he reached the cottage?"

"I--I think so; but there came so many with him that I escaped through the shrubberies."

"And came here alone. That was brave; that was wise. At least, we must save you from the horrors of to-night, let the result be what it may."

Lady Rose uttered a faint moan, and the tears grew hot under her drooping eyelids.

"If it goes ill with him, I do not wish to be spared. Pain will seem natural to me then," she said, shivering.

The baronet took her hand in his own; both were cold as ice; so were the lips that touched her fingers.

"You will let me stay until we hear something?" she pleaded.

Just then she stood within the light which fell from one of the tall windows, and all the disarray of her dress was clearly betrayed: the trailing azure of her train soiled with earth and wet with dew; the gossamer lace torn in shreds, the ringlets of her thick, rich hair falling in damp ma.s.ses around her. Surely that was no figure to present before his critical guests. They must not know how this fair girl suffered. There should be no wounds to her maidenly pride that he could spare her.

These thoughts drew the baronet partially from himself. It was a relief to have something to care for. At this moment, when all his nerves were quivering with dread, the sweet, sad sympathy of this fair girl was a support to him. He did not wish to part with her now, that she so completely shared the misery of his suspense.

"You are shivering; you are cold!" he said.

"No, no; it is not that."

"I know--I know!"

He dropped her hand and went into the great, open hall, where bronze statues in armor, life-sized, held lights on the points of their spears, as if on guard. Some lady had flung her shawl across the arm of one of these n.o.ble ornaments, where it fell in waves of rich coloring to the marble floor. Sir Noel seized upon this and wrapped the Lady Rose in its loose folds from head to foot. Then he drew her to a side of the terrace, where the two stood, minute after minute, waiting in silence. Once the baronet spoke.

"The windows of his room are just above us," he said. "I thought perhaps we might hear something."

"Ah me! How still they are!" sighed the girl, looking upward.

"We could not hear. No, no, we could not hear. The sashes are all closed," answered the baronet, sharply, for he felt the fear her words implied.

Rose drew close to her companion.

"I did not mean that. I only thought--"

"They are coming."

The baronet spoke in a whisper, but did not move. He shrunk now from hearing the news so impatiently waited for a moment before.

A servant came through the hall, and rushed toward his master.

"Sir Noel, they are waiting for you in the small drawing-room."

The baronet hesitated. His lips were striving to frame a question which the man read in the wild eyes fixed on his.

"He is alive, Sir Noel. I know that."

The father drew a deep, deep breath. The claw of some fierce bird of prey seemed loosened from his heart; a flood of gentle pity for the fair girl, who dared not even look her anxiety, detained him another moment.

"Go into the library. I will bring you news," he said.

CHAPTER XXIII.

BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH.

Lady Rose watched the master and servant as they went into the hall; then, gliding through one of the open windows, stole into the library, where she walked up and down, up and down, until it seemed as if she had travelled leagues on leagues, but could not stop.

The baronet came at last, looking calmer and more self-possessed, but still very pale.

Lady Rose came up to him, looking the question she could not ask.

"It is not death as yet," he said.

"But, tell me--oh! tell me, is there danger?"

"Great danger, the doctors think; all the more because they can find no wound."

"No wound! But that shot! that shot!"

The baronet shook his head.

"It is all a mystery as yet."

"But if he is not wounded?"

"There has been a fall--a blow; something which threatens congestion of the brain."

"But if the other, Jessup, is shot. I heard the report from the terrace."

"And I from the woods. But let us say nothing of this--think nothing, if we can help it," said the baronet.

"If we can help it! Ah! me."

"The surgeons have gone over to Jessup's cottage. He may be able to speak. I will go with them."