As might be imagined, under the circumstances the conversation was constrained; Miss Bardon principally sustained it, for she was the only one present who could talk at ease on all the trifling topics of the day.
“Hark!” exclaimed Cecilia suddenly, “there is a horse running away!” and her words seemed confirmed by so rapid a clatter of hoofs, that not only Ida, but Aumerle and the countess followed her quickly to the open door to see if some rider were not in peril.
The alarm was in one sense a false one; the horse that came gallopping on was impelled to furious speed by the whip and the spur of its rider, as if—
“Headlong haste or deadly fear
Urged the precipitate career;”
and the party saw with surprise that this rider was Dr. Bardon. He reined up so suddenly at the garden-gate that the panting steed was thrown violently back on its haunches. The doctor flung himself quickly from the saddle, and without even pausing to throw the rein round a post, advanced to the party at the door. His long white hair streamed wildly back from his excited face.
“Something has happened!” exclaimed Ida; Annabella’s tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of her mouth!
“The balloon!” cried Cecilia; “tell us, oh! tell us, has some accident befallen the balloon?”
The gesture of Bardon was one which might well have beseemed a prophet of desolation, as raising his arm he exclaimed, “Lost! lost! past recovery!”
“How lost?—what would you have us believe?—remember in whose presence you speak!” cried Lawrence Aumerle almost sternly.