to ask Doctor Scott
for a sleeping draught, when she was met by the detective and the
Inspector.

"Miss Grant, the librarian," murmured the Inspector; and Mr. Jacobs
bowed politely.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Grant," he said. "Wish it were
in happier circumstances. How is the Marquess now?"

"Still the same," replied Celia. "He is not yet conscious."

"Dear me; dear me!" murmured Mr. Jacobs, sympathetically. "Now, my dear
young lady, may I ask you a favour--I don't want to trouble the doctor,
he's got quite enough to do; so have you, no doubt, for that matter; but
you know what doctors are?--What I want you to do, if you will be so
kind, and if you should be in the room and the Marquess recovers
consciousness, is to just send to me in the sitting-room here and let me
know."

"I will do so," said Celia, and she passed on to the morning-room, where
Doctor Scott was giving some directions to his assistant.

So suddenly had the terrible blow fallen that she had scarcely time to
think of her lover. It hurt her to imagine him waiting in the wood for
her, on the chance of seeing her, and to know that she could not send a
message to him, could not let him know. But she told herself that, no
doubt, by this time, he had heard of the terrible tragedy and would
understand. She could not afford much thought for him; her hands were
too full; indeed, in addition to her other responsibilities, she had, in
a measure, taken Mrs. Dexter's place in the household, and had to give
directions to the still scared servants.

She sent down to the village for the sleeping draught which Doctor Scott
prescribed for Miriam, and as soon as she could, went upstairs again. In
the corridor, she met Lord Heyton, and he looked so ill, so careworn,
that, for a moment, her dislike of him was outbalanced by pity. He
nodded to her, and she was about to pass on; then she paused and said:

"Have you had anything to eat, my lord? Everyone is so busy and so
confused, there will be no regular meals, I am afraid."

"Oh, that's all right," he said, glancing at her furtively, and then
lowering his eyes. "I'm not much in the humour for meals, as you may
guess. Has my father come to, yet? Look here, that officious fool of a
nurse has shut me out of the room. I wish you'd--yes, look here, just
let me know when he comes to. I shall be hanging about. I say," he
added, with another furtive glance at her pale face, "you're looking
pretty upset your