sassin, or assassins, nothing was known; they had
escaped. "No doubt," Mr. Yorke observed, "it was done in revenge. It was
a pity ill-will had ever been raised; but that could not be helped now."

"He is my only brother," said Louis, as Shirley returned the note. "I
cannot hear unmoved that ruffians have laid in wait for him, and shot
him down, like some wild beast from behind a wall."

"Be comforted; be hopeful. He will get better--I know he will."

Shirley, solicitous to soothe, held her hand over Mr. Moore's as it lay
on the arm of the chair. She just touched it lightly, scarce palpably.

"Well, give me your hand," he said. "It will be for the first time; it
is in a moment of calamity. Give it me."

Awaiting neither consent nor refusal, he took what he asked.

"I am going to Briarmains now," he went on. "I want you to step over to
the rectory and tell Caroline Helstone what has happened. Will you do
this? She will hear it best from you."

"Immediately," said Shirley, with docile promptitude. "Ought I to say
that there is no danger?"

"Say so."

"You will come back soon, and let me know more?"

"I will either come or write."

"Trust me for watching over Caroline. I will communicate with your
sister too; but doubtless she is already with Robert?"

"Doubtless, or will be soon. Good-morning now."

"You will bear up, come what may."

"We shall see that."

Shirley's fingers were obliged to withdraw from the tutor's. Louis was
obliged to relinquish that hand folded, clasped, hidden in his own.

"I thought I should have had to support her," he said, as he walked
towards Briarmains, "and it is she who has made me strong. That look of
pity, that gentle touch! No down was ever softer, no elixir more potent!
It lay like a snowflake; it thrilled like lightning. A thousand times I
have longed to possess that hand--to have it in mine. I _have_ possessed
it; for five minutes I held it. Her fingers and mine can never be
strangers more. Having met once they must meet again."

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE WOOD-NYMPH.

Briarmains being nearer than the Hollow, Mr. Yorke had conveyed his
young comrade there. He had seen him laid in the best bed of the house,
as carefully as if he had been one of his own sons. The sight of his
blood, welling from the treacherously inflicted wound, made him indeed
the son of the Yorkshire gentleman's heart. The spectacle of the sudden
event, of the tall, straight shap