where
Sir Noel lay.

A grand and stately chamber, lofty, dark, and wainscoted, where the
wax-candles made luminous clouds in the darkness, and the wood-fire on
the marble hearth failed to give heat. The oak floor was overlaid with
Persian rugs; the windows were draped in green velvet; and the chairs
were upholstered in the same. Near the centre of the apartment stood the
bed, tall, broad, quaintly carved, curtained in green damask, and on it,
cold and apparently lifeless, lay the wounded man. Mrs. Hilliard, the
housekeeper, sat beside him; and Arneaud, the Swiss valet, with a
frightened face, stood near the fire.

"Very shocking business this, Mrs. Hilliard," said the doctor, removing
his hat and gloves--"very shocking. How is he? Any signs of
consciousness yet?"

"None whatever, sir," replied the housekeeper, rising. "I am so thankful
you have come. We, none of us, knew what to do for him; and it is
dreadful to see him lying there like that."

She moved away, leaving the doctor to his examination. Ten minutes,
fifteen, twenty passed; then Dr. Gale turned to her with a very grave
face.

"It is too late, Mrs. Hilliard. Sir Noel is a dead man."

"Dead!" repeated Mrs. Hilliard, trembling, and holding by a chair. "Oh,
my lady! my lady!"

"I am going to bleed him," said the doctor, "to restore consciousness.
He may last until morning. Send for Lady Thetford at once."

Arneaud started up. Mrs. Hilliard looked at him, wringing her hands.

"Break it gently, Arneaud. Oh, my lady! my dear lady! so young, and so
pretty--and only married five months!"

The swiss valet left the room. Dr. Gale got out his lancet, and desired
Mrs. Hilliard to hold the basin. At first the blood refused to flow--but
presently it came in a little feeble stream. The closed eyelids
fluttered; there was a restless movement, and Sir Noel Thetford opened
his eyes on this mortal life once more. He looked first at the doctor,
grave and pale, then at the housekeeper, sobbing on her knees by the
bed. He was a young man of seven-and-twenty, fair and handsome, as it
was in the nature of the Thetfords to be.

"What is it?" he faintly asked. "What is the matter?"

"You are hurt, Sir Noel," the doctor answered, sadly; "you have been
thrown from your horse. Don't attempt to move--you are not able."

"I remember--I remember," said the young man, a gleam of recollection
lighting up his ghastly face. "Diana slipped, and I was thrown. How long
ago is that