"Oh, Sir Everard!" Harrie panted, in affright, "where is papa? He left
to go to Kingsland Court, and Starlight has come galloping back
riderless. Something awful has happened, I know!"

His man's heart burned within him. He wanted to catch her in his arms,
to hold her there forever--to shield her from all the world and all
worldly sorrow.

Something of what he felt must have shone in his ardent eyes. Hers
dropped, and a bright, virginal blush dyed for the first time cheek and
brow. He vaulted off his horse and stood uncovered before her.

"Dear Miss Hunsden," he said, gently, "there has been an accident. I
am sorry to be the bearer of ill news, but don't be alarmed--all may
yet be well."

"Papa," she barely gasped.

"He has met with an accident--a second apoplectic fit. I found him
lying in Brithlow Wood. He had fallen from his horse. Mr. Green is
fetching him here in his chaise. They will arrive presently. You had
better have his room prepared, and I--will I ride for your physician
myself?"

She leaned against a tree, sick and faint. He made a step toward her,
but she rallied and motioned him off.

"No," she said, "let me be! Don't go, Sir Everard--remain here. I
will send a servant for the doctor. Oh, I dreaded this! I warned him
when he left this afternoon, but he wanted to see you so much."

She left him and hurried into the house, dispatched a man for the
doctor, and prepared her father's room.

In fifteen minutes the doctor's pony-chaise drove up. He and the
baronet and the butler assisted the stricken and insensible man up to
his room, and laid him upon the bed from which he was never more to
rise.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE CAPTAIN'S LAST NIGHT.

A young crescent moon rose in the bleak sky; on the shore the
flood-tide beat its hoarse refrain, and in his chamber Harold Godfrey
Hunsden lay dying.

They knew it--the silent watchers in that somber room--his daughter,
and all. She knelt by the bedside, her face hidden, still, tearless,
stunned. Sir Everard, the doctor, the rector, silent and sad, stood
around.

The dying man had been aroused to full consciousness at last. One hand
feebly rested on his daughter's stricken young head, the other lay
motionless on the counterpane. His dulled eyes went aimlessly
wandering.

"Doctor!"

The old physician bent over him.

"How long?" he paused--"how long can I last?"

"My dear friend--"

"How long? Quick! the truth! how long?