aw her. He was new in the service, a simple country
native, just engaged. She withdrew her arm from Mr. Carlyle's, and stood
a moment before stepping in, looking at the man.

"Is papa much worse?"

"Oh, yes, my lady; he was screaming shocking. But they think he'll live
till morning."

With a sharp cry, she seized the arm of Mr. Carlyle--seized it for
support in her shock of agony. Mr. Carlyle rudely thrust the man away;
he would willingly have flung him at full length on the pavement.

"Oh, Mr. Carlyle, why did you not tell me?" she shivered.

"My dear Lady Isabel, I am grieved that you are told now. But take
comfort; you know how ill he frequently is, and this may be but an
ordinary attack. Step in. I trust we shall find it nothing more."

"Are you going home with me?"

"Certainly; I shall not leave you to go alone."

She moved to the other side of the chariot, making room for him.

"Thank you. I will sit outside."

"But the night is cold."

"Oh, no." He closed the door, and took his seat by the coachman; the
footman got up behind, and the carriage sped away. Isabel gathered
herself into her corner, and moaned aloud in her suspense and
helplessness.

The coachman drove rapidly, and soon whipped his horses through the
lodge-gates.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Mason, waited at the hall-door to receive Lady
Isabel. Mr. Carlyle helped her out of the carriage, and gave her his arm
up the steps. She scarcely dared to inquire.

"Is he better? May I go to his room?" she panted.

Yes, the earl was better--better, in so far as that he was quiet and
senseless. She moved hastily toward his chamber. Mr. Carlyle drew the
housekeeper aside.

"Is there any hope?"

"Not the slightest, sir. He is dying."

The earl knew no one; pain was gone for the present, and he lay on his
bed, calm; but his face, which had death in it all too plainly, startled
Isabel. She did not scream or cry; she was perfectly quiet, save that
she had a fit of shivering.

"Will he soon be better?" she whispered to Mr. Wainwright, who stood
there.

The surgeon coughed. "Well, he--he--we must hope it, my lady."

"But why does his face look like that? It is pale--gray; I never saw
anybody else look so."

"He has been in great pain, my lady, and pain leaves its traces on the
countenance."

Mr. Carlyle, who had come, and was standing by the surgeon, touched his
arm to draw him from the room. He noticed the look on the earl's face,
and did not l