et him carry her. It will only hurt her to change so. There's the
house close by, and he's stronger than you are; and not knocked down
with fright, you see, either, as you are, naturally enough.--Run on,
boy, run on," he continued, somewhat sharply, to a lad who was with
them--"run on, and tell old Plessis to get down a mattress to carry
the lady up in."
The boy sped away to execute this kind and prudent order; and in a
few minutes more, the whole party stood upon the little stone
esplanade before the dwelling of Monsieur Plessis. That worthy
personage himself was down, and already in a state of great anxiety
and tribulation, being one of those who have an excessive dislike to
anything which may bring upon them too much notice of any kind.
The mattress, too, had been brought down, but when Wilton gazed
through the door, he turned quickly to his friend, saying, "I had
better carry her up at once, Sherhrooke. I can do it easily, and it
will save her the pain of changing her position more than once."
Without waiting for any one's consent, he accordingly began to mount
the staircase, and had just reached the balustrade of the little sort
of square vestibule at top, when the door of an opposite room opened,
and the Lady Helen stood before him.
To Wilton, who knew nothing of all the secrets of Plessis's house,
which the reader is already informed of, the sight was like that of
an apparition; and to the Lady Helen herself, the sight of Wilton
bearing Caroline in his arms, while the light of the lamp that
Plessis carried before them shone upon the pale but still beautiful
countenance of the poor girl, and showed her dress and that of Wilton
both thickly stained and spotted with blood, was not less astounding.
"Oh, Wilton, Wilton," she cried--"what is this?--Caroline, my sweet
Caroline, for Heaven's sake speak!--for Heaven's sake look at me!"
The next moment, however, her eyes fell upon Lord Sherbrooke; his
countenance also as pale as death, his coat, and collar, and face
also bloody.
"Oh young man, young man," she cried, "is it you that have done
this?"
"Yes, Lady Helen," he answered, rather bitterly--"yes, after nearly
killing her in another way, it is I who have shed her blood. But the
first was the criminal act, not the last. The shot was
unintentional: the wounds given by my words were the guilty ones."
"No, no, Sherbrooke!" said Caroline, raising her head faintly, and
again stretching out her hand towards him--"No, no, dear Henry. You
love me; t