"This is indeed terrible," he said to Laurence as he made his way to the bedside. Then he leant down and ripped open the Squire's shirt at the neck, and in his turn felt for any movement of the heart. He shook his head ominously as he drew his hand away, and searching in his pocket produced a small mirror, which he held for a moment before the prostrate man's mouth.
"No, he's not dead," he said quietly, after a short pause, "but in a very bad way indeed." Next he commenced giving his orders in an imperative tone to the servants who were waiting in the doorway. One of the first was that Mrs. Knox and the hysterical housemaid should be at once removed. Laurence whispered to Lena to take her aunt away, for the poor woman was incapable of understanding what was said to her.
The girl seized his hand and pressed it as she went to do as he had asked her. "Thank God," she murmured, "that you are safe," and the young man knew that this was something of an answer to the question he had put a few brief hours before.
Dr. Bathurst was an able physician. He had all his wits about him and did not lose them at the critical moment. Silently the butler and housekeeper, as well as Laurence, carried out his instructions. In a few moments the Squire's evening clothes had been removed and he had been placed between the sheets. Then the struggle between death and medical skill began, and so bravely did the doctor fight for the life of his patient that after two long hours of watching and unceasing attendance he was able to turn to Laurence, who had stood by his side throughout the vigil, and say, "He will live."
Then, at Bathurst's request, young Carrington left the sick-room to inform those who were waiting outside that the crisis was past.
"What had happened?" Laurence had asked himself time after time as he stood by the bedside. It must surely be that the second attempt on the helpless old man's life had been made by his terrible foe—the attempt that he had been dreading since that night on the moor.
Lena met him in the passage. She had prevailed upon her aunt to go to bed, and now was returning for news.
"Oh, isn't it awful to think of the fiend who has done this!" she cried, after learning that the Squire might yet live. "To think that your father is encompassed by a fearful, lurking danger, more horrible than that of the battle-field. What has he done? What does it all mean?"
But Laurence could not answer the question any better than she was able to. Had he not been striving ever since the attack on the carriage to discover what his father's secret was and why he stood in such mortal danger? But he had failed. He was no nearer the solution of the mystery after his visit to Durley Dene than he had been before.
"How did it happen? Do you know?" he asked. They had moved along the unlighted corridor until an open landing window, looking upon the lawn at the rear of the house, was reached.