an hour since--that is the whole
mischief of it--it was too much for me--it took away my senses and I
fell on my gun, and the beastly thing went off. If I ever get back to
where Bulstrode is----"

"Cecil!" cried the Duchess. She again wound her arms around him, and
it was as well that she was a strong, fine creature and that the
columns of the gate were back of him, for Westboro' was swaying like a
child that has just learned to walk.

"He is fainting!" she cried. "Mellon, Mellon!"

The old man had not heard his mistress but he had seen her, and after
staring open-mouthed at the couple at the gate, he came scurrying like
a rabbit, dropping his shears on the wall. They hit the big dial with
a ring.

The Duke heard the steps and tried to start forwards; also tried weakly
to extricate himself from his wife's embrace. "I beg your pardon," he
said, with a coolness that had something of the humorous in its
formality--"I beg your pardon, but I am _not_ going to Bulstrode's
house, you know."

"_Cecil_," pleaded the woman tenderly, "how ridiculous you are!
Bulstrode's house! Why, it's mine! Oh, don't break my heart. He's
only bought it, you know, that's all."

"Break her heart!" It was a new voice that spoke to the Duke of
Westboro'. He had never heard it in all his life. It was warm and
struggling for clearness, it was full of tears and quivering, it was
the voice of love, and unmistakable, certainly, to a lover.

"What was Bulstrode doing here?" he persisted.

"Going to Mrs. Falconer," breathed the Duchess.

The Duke moved a step forwards: "What are you doing here?"

"Going to you, Cecil--I have _been_ going to you all day. I think I
have been going to you ever since you left me that night on the
Riviera; at any rate, I was on my way to the castle as you came."

The Duke halted again on his crawling way. Mellon, who had really
reached his side, was doing his best to be of some use and kept himself
well under the wounded arm, on which the blood had clotted and dried,
but ceased to flow.

"Lean hard on me, your Grace," pleaded the gardener, and with his word,
he looked over at his mistress to see if she realized who their noble
visitor was.

With fine disregard for his help or existence, the Duke said crossly:
"Send this damned gardener away."

"Oh, Cecil, no, no; you can't stand without him."

They had reached the garden wall, just at the place where the big dial,
round and shining, had come a