Lucas turned his eyes from him and seemed to fall into a reverie.

Suddenly, however, he roused himself.

"What does the doctor say about her?"

Nap frowned. "He says very little. After the manner of his tribe, he is afraid to commit himself; thinks there may be this injury or there may be that, but says definitely nothing. I shall get someone down from town to-morrow. I'd go tonight, only--" he broke off, hammering impotently with his clenched fist on the arm of his chair. "I must be at hand to-night," he said, after a moment, controlling himself. "The mater has promised to call me if there is any change. You see," he spoke half-apologetically, "she might feel kind of lonely waking up in a crowd of strangers, and mine is the only face she knows."

Silence followed the words. Lucas had closed his eyes, and there was nothing in his face to indicate the trend of his thoughts.

Nap sat with his face to the fire, and stared unblinkingly into the red depths. There was no repose in his att.i.tude, only the tension of suppressed activity.

Softly at length his brother's voice came through the silence. "Why not dine, dear fellow, while you are waiting? You will do no good to anyone by starving yourself."

Nap looked round. "In Heaven's name, don't talk to me of eating!" he said savagely. "You don't know what I've been through." Again he paused to control himself, then added in a lower tone, "I thought she was dead, you know."

"It was you who picked her up?" Lucas asked.

"Yes. There was no one else near." He spoke with feverish rapidity, as though he found speaking a relief. "It was the old chalk-pit. You know the place--or p'r'aps you don't. It's a ten-foot drop. The brute went clean over, and he must have rolled on her or kicked her getting up." He drew a sharp breath between his teeth. "When I found her she was lying all crumpled up. I thought her back was broken at first."

A sudden shudder a.s.sailed him. He repressed it fiercely.

"And then, you know, it was foggy. I couldn't leave her. I was afraid of losing my bearings. And so I just had to wait--Heaven knows how long--till one of the keepers heard me shouting, and went for help. And all that time--all that time--I didn't know whether she was alive or dead."

His voice sank to a hard whisper. He got up and vigorously poked the fire.

Lucas Errol endured the clatter for several seconds in silence: then, "Boney," he said, "since you are feeling energetic, you might lend me a hand."

Nap laid down the poker instantly. "I am sorry, old fellow. I forgot. Let me ring for Hudson."

"Can't you help me yourself?" Lucas asked.

Nap hesitated for a second; then stooped in silence to give the required a.s.sistance. Lucas Errol, with a set face, accepted it, but once on his feet he quitted Nap's support and leaned upon the mantelpiece to wipe his forehead.

"I knew I should hurt you," Nap said uneasily.

The millionaire forced a smile that was twisted in spite of him. "Never mind me!" he said. "It is your affairs that trouble me just now, not my own. And, Boney, if you don't have a meal soon, you'll be making a big fool of yourself and everyone will know it."

The very gentleness of his speech seemed to make the words the more emphatic. Nap raised no further protest.

"Go and have it right now," his brother said.

"And--in case I don't see you again--goodnight!"

He held out his hand, still leaning against the mantelpiece. His eyes, blue and very steady, looked straight into Nap's. So for a second or two he held him while Nap, tight-lipped, uncompromising, looked straight back.

Then, "Good-night," Lucas said again gravely, and let him go.

Yet for an instant longer Nap lingered as one on the verge of speech. But nothing came of it. He apparently thought better--or worse--of the impulse, and departed light-footed in silence.

CHAPTER X

THE HAND OF A FRIEND

What had happened to her? Slowly, with a sensation of doubt that seemed to weigh her down, Anne rose to the surface of things, and looked once more upon the world that had rushed so giddily away from her and left her spinning through s.p.a.ce.

She was horribly afraid during those first few minutes, afraid with a physical, overwhelming dread. She seemed to be yet falling, falling through emptiness to annihilation. And as she fell she caught the sounds of other worlds, vague whisperings in the dark. She was sinking, sinking fast into a depth unfathomable, where no worlds were.

And then--how it came to her she knew not, for she was powerless to help herself--out of the chaos and the awful darkness a hand reached out and grasped her own; a hand strong and vital that gripped and held, that lifted her up, that guided her, that sustained her, through all the terror that girt her round.

The light dawned gradually in her eyes. She found herself gazing up into a face she knew, a lean, brown face, alert and keen, that watched her steadfastly.

With an effort she clasped her nerveless fingers upon the sustaining hand.

"Hold me!" she whispered weakly. "I'm falling!"

"Don't be afraid!" he made answer with infinite gentleness. "I have you safe."

Someone whom she saw but vaguely came behind him and whispered in a vigorous undertone. A large white hand, on which flashed many rings, rested upon his shoulder.

He moved slightly, took something into his free hand and held it to her lips. Submissively, in answer to an influence that seemed to fold her about and gently to compel, she drank.

Slowly the mist of dread cleared from her brain. Slowly she awoke to full consciousness, and found Nap Errol bending over her, her hand fast clasped in his.

"What happened?" she asked him faintly. "Where am I?"

"You are at Baronmead," he said. "You were thrown and we brought you here."

"Ah!" Her brows contracted a little. "Am I much hurt?" she asked.

"Nothing to worry about," Nap said with quiet confidence. "You will soon be all right again. I will leave you to get a good sleep, shall I? If you are wanting anything my mother will be here."

She looked at him doubtfully. Her hand still clung to his, half-mechanically it seemed.

"Mr. Errol," she faltered, "my husband--does he know?"

"Yes, he knows." Very softly Nap made answer, as though he were soothing a child. "Don't trouble about that. Don't trouble about anything. Just lie still and rest."

But the anxiety in her eyes was growing. "He isn't here?" she questioned.

"No."

"Then--then I think I ought to go to him. He will think it so strange. He will--he will--"

"Lady Carfax, listen!" Quietly but insistently he broke in upon her rising agitation. "Your husband knows all about you. He couldn't come to-night, but he is coming in the morning. Now won't you be content and try to sleep?"