CHAPTER XXIII.

BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH.

Lady Rose watched the master and servant as they went into the hall; then, gliding through one of the open windows, stole into the library, where she walked up and down, up and down, until it seemed as if she had travelled leagues on leagues, but could not stop.

The baronet came at last, looking calmer and more self-possessed, but still very pale.

Lady Rose came up to him, looking the question she could not ask.

"It is not death as yet," he said.

"But, tell me--oh! tell me, is there danger?"

"Great danger, the doctors think; all the more because they can find no wound."

"No wound! But that shot! that shot!"

The baronet shook his head.

"It is all a mystery as yet."

"But if he is not wounded?"

"There has been a fall--a blow; something which threatens congestion of the brain."

"But if the other, Jessup, is shot. I heard the report from the terrace."

"And I from the woods. But let us say nothing of this--think nothing, if we can help it," said the baronet.

"If we can help it! Ah! me."

"The surgeons have gone over to Jessup's cottage. He may be able to speak. I will go with them."

Lady Rose looked up eagerly.

"And he?"

"Must be kept perfectly quiet. My man is with him."

"Have you seen him? Is it certain that he breathes?"

"I have seen him only for a moment. He was breathing, but very feebly," answered the baronet.

"Ah! that poor white face! I shall never forget it," answered Rose, covering her eyes with both hands. "His eyes so wide open! Oh, how they frightened me!"

"They are closed now, and he lies there quiet as a child. There is some burden upon the brain."

"But the doctors, how can they leave him? He might die."

"It is only long enough to visit Jessup. He is wounded badly, the people say who took him home."

"Yes, I know. I heard them speaking of blood on the grass as they came up. Of--of course, the doctors must go to him--and you; it is but right."

A strange resolve had suddenly flashed into her thoughts.

"You will go to your room now, Lady Rose. It is long after midnight," said the baronet, as he opened a door leading to the hall.

"No, Sir Noel; I could not sleep; I could not breathe under all this uncertainty. You will find me here, with your news, good or bad. It would be like shutting myself in a prison cell if I went to my room now."

"As you wish. I will not be gone long," answered the baronet.

Lady Rose stood in the middle of the library, listening, until Sir Noel's footsteps died out on the terrace; then she stole into the hall and mounted the stairs, holding her breath as she went.

In her dressing-room she found a woman leaning back in an easy-chair, who had fallen into a restless sleep.

"Hipple, Hipple!" said Lady Rose, under her breath. "Do wake up."

The thin little shadow of a woman opened two black eyes, and thrust up her shoulders with a sleepy protest.

"Mrs. Hipple, Hipple! always Mrs. Hipple, sleeping or waking. Well, what is it now, my lady?"

"Get up, that is a good soul. I know that you have been kept out of your bed, cruelly, but I want you so much."

"Well, well, lady-bird, what is it all about? Of course, you want me. That is what you always were doing as a child. Oh, well, one is something older now, and that makes a difference."

While the sleepy woman was uttering this half-protest, Lady Rose was arranging the cap, that had been crushed on one side as she slept, and gently shaking off the sleep which threatened to renew itself in soft grumbles.

"There, now, everything is set to rights, and you look wide awake."

"Of course, I am wide awake; I, who never sleep, though you dance away the hours till morning," answered the little lady, testily.

"But I have not been dancing to-night, Hipple; far from it. Something dreadful has happened."

"Dreadful! Lady Rose, do speak out. My heart is rising into my mouth."

"Mr. Walton Hurst has been hurt."

"Hurt! My poor, dear child. Oh, now I know why you came to me gasping for breath."

"He is very ill--quite insensible, in his room over yonder, with no one to take care of him but Sir Noel's man."

"Who knows nothing."

"Who might let him die, you know, while the doctors are away. I am so troubled about it."

"Well, what shall I do? Of course Webb isn't to be trusted."

"Just step in and offer to take his place, while he goes down to the gardener's cottage and inquires about Jessup, who is hurt also."

"Jessup hurt! What right had he to take the same night of the young gentleman's misfortune, for his poor trouble, I should like to know," exclaimed the old lady, resentfully. "It is taking a great liberty, I can tell him."

"Still, he is hurt, and I want to hear about it, if you can only get Webb to go."

"Can! He shall!"

"He will trust Mr. Hurst with you!"

"Of course. Who doubts that?"

"And then--"

Lady Rose faltered, and a faint streak of carmine shot across her forehead.

"Well, what then, lady-bird? something chokes in your throat. What am I to do then?"

"Perhaps, you would let me come in, just for a moment."

"Oh-h! But don't--don't. I cannot see your pretty lip quivering so! There--there. I understand it all now!"

"And you will?"

"When did Hipple ever say no? Is she likely to begin now, when rain is getting under those eyelids? Sit down a minute, and take comfort. Things must be amiss indeed if the old woman can't set them right."

Gently forcing her young mistress into the easy-chair, the faithful old companion left the room, swift as a bird, and noiseless as a mouse. Directly she came back, and beckoned with her finger through the open door.

"He has gone. I frightened him about his master. Come!"

Lady Rose was at the door in an instant. The next she stood in the midst of a large chamber, in the centre of which was a huge high-posted bedstead of carved ebony, shrouded by a torrent of lace and damask, on which the shaded light fell like the glow of rubies. Shrinking behind these curtains, which were drawn back at the head in gorgeous masses, Lady Rose looked timidly upon the form that lay prostrate there, afraid of the death signs which might be written upon it.

Walton Hurst was deadly pale yet; but the locked features had relaxed a little, the limbs were outlined less rigidly under the snow-white counterpane than they had been upon the forest path. There was a faint stir of breath about the chest also; but for this the intense stillness in which he lay would have been horrible.

As she gazed, holding her own breath that she might listen for his, her hand was touched softly by lips that seemed to be whispering a prayer or blessing, and Mrs. Hipple stole from the room.

Lady Rose was alone with the man she loved better than anything on earth, and the solitude made her tremble, as if she were committing a crime. She dared not move, or scarcely breathe. What if he were to open his eyes and discover her! Then she could only wish to die of the shame she had brought upon herself.

Still the girl was fascinated. The way of retreat was before her, but she would not take it. Perhaps this was the only time she might hope to see him upon earth. Was she to cast this precious opportunity away? He stirred a little. It was nothing but a faint shiver of the limbs; but that was enough to startle her. Then a shadow seemed to flit across his features. His eyes opened, and were fixed upon her with a blank, unquestioning look.

Lady Rose could not help the words that sprang to her lips.

"Are you better? Ah, tell me that you are better."

A faint gleam of intelligence came into the eyes she no longer sought to evade, and the lips moved a little, as if something heavier than a breath were disturbing them.

"Can you speak? Do you know me?"

Some unintelligible words were broken on the invalid's lips.

"Do you want anything?"

"No. I--I--"

Here the man's feeble speech broke off, and his head moved restlessly on the pillow. Lady Rose leaned over him. Her soul was craving one word of recognition.

"Try and say if you know me," she whispered, too eager for any thought of the fear that had possessed her.

"Oh, yes, I know. Only the name. I never mention that--never!"

"But why? Is it hateful to you?"

"Hateful! No, no! Don't you know that?"

Rose could not resist the temptation, but touched his forehead with her hand. A ghostly little smile crept over his mouth, which was half-concealed by a wave of the silken beard that had drifted across it. She longed to know if it was a smile or a tremor of light from the shaded lamp, and softly smoothed the beard away. As she did so, a faint kiss was left upon her hand. She drew it back with a sob of delight so exquisite that it made her feel faint.

"He knows me. With his poor, feeble breath he has kissed my hand." This thought was like rare old wine to the girl; she felt its glow in every pulse of her being. With that precious kiss on her palm, she drew back among the curtains, and gathered it into her heart, pressing her lips where his had been, as children hide away to eat their stolen fruit.

Then she grew ashamed of her own happiness, and came into sight again. Hurst was apparently asleep then. His eyes were closed; but low murmurs broke from him, now and then, as if he were toiling through some dream. The girl bent her head to listen. The hunger of a loving heart made her insatiable.

"Here--here with me! Then all is well! Dreams haunt one: but what are dreams? Her hand was on my mouth. I felt her breath. No harm has come to her. Yet, and yet--dreams all!"

Here the young man fell into deeper unconsciousness, and his murmurs ceased almost entirely.

Some minutes passed, and then the door was swiftly opened, and Mrs. Hipple glided through.

"My lady! my lady! They are here, mounting the terrace."

Lady Rose heard the loud whisper, and fled from the room.