his blue
eyes. "We hope not, ma'am," he said. "But it is as God wills."

Her limbs seemed to fail her, and she sank down on her knees beside the
settle. "We must save him," she muttered fearfully. "We must save his
life. Where is the doctor? He won't die! Oh, he must not die!"

They stood grouped about, looking on in silence, Rotherby in the
background. Behind him again, on the topmost of the three steps that led
up into the inner hall, stood Mistress Winthrop, white of face, a wild
horror in the eyes she riveted upon the wounded and unconscious man.
She realized that he was like to die. There was an infinite pity in
her soul--and, maybe, something more. Her impulse was to go to him; her
every instinct urged her. But her reason held her back.

Then, as she looked, she saw with a feeling almost of terror that his
eyes were suddenly wide open.

"Wha--what?" came in feeble accents from his lips.

There was a stir about him.

"Never move, Justin," said Gascoigne, who stood by his head. "You are
hurt. Lie still. The doctor has been summoned."

"Ah!" It was a sigh. The wounded man closed his eyes a moment, then
re-opened them. "I remember. I remember," he said feebly. "It is--it is
grave?" he inquired. "It went right through me. I remember!" He surveyed
himself. "There's been a deal of blood lost. I am like to die, I take
it."

"Nay, sir, we hope not--we hope not!" It was the countess who spoke.

A wry smile twisted his lips. "Your ladyship is very good," said he. "I
had not thought you quite so much my well-wisher. I--I have done you
a wrong, madam." He paused for breath, and it was not plain whether he
spoke in sincerity or in sarcasm. Then with a startling suddenness he
broke into a soft laugh and to those risen, who could not think what had
occasioned it, it sounded more dreadful than any plaint he could have
uttered.

He had bethought him that there was no longer the need for him to come
to a decision in the matter that had brought him to England, and his
laugh was almost of relief. The riddle he could never have solved for
himself in a manner that had not shattered his future peace of mind, was
solved and well solved if this were death.

"Where--where is Rotherby?" he inquired presently.

There was a stir, and men drew back, leaving an open lane to the place
where Rotherby stood. Mr. Caryll saw him, and smiled, and his smile held
no tinge of mockery. "You are the best friend I ever had, Rotherby," he
star