"Go—go up to your room, Lady Rose," said the baronet, after a moment's severe struggle with himself. "In my selfish grief I had forgotten everything. Was Jessup alive when he reached the cottage?"
"I—I think so; but there came so many with him that I escaped through the shrubberies."
"And came here alone. That was brave; that was wise. At least, we must save you from the horrors of to-night, let the result be what it may."
Lady Rose uttered a faint moan, and the tears grew hot under her drooping eyelids.
"If it goes ill with him, I do not wish to be spared. Pain will seem natural to me then," she said, shivering.
The baronet took her hand in his own; both were cold as ice; so were the lips that touched her fingers.
"You will let me stay until we hear something?" she pleaded.
Just then she stood within the light which fell from one of the tall windows, and all the disarray of her dress was clearly betrayed: the trailing azure of her train soiled with earth and wet with dew; the gossamer lace torn in shreds, the ringlets of her thick, rich hair falling in damp masses around her. Surely that was no figure to present before his critical guests. They must not know how this fair girl suffered. There should be no wounds to her maidenly pride that he could spare her.
These thoughts drew the baronet partially from himself. It was a relief to have something to care for. At this moment, when all his nerves were quivering with dread, the sweet, sad sympathy of this fair girl was a support to him. He did not wish to part with her now, that she so completely shared the misery of his suspense.
"You are shivering; you are cold!" he said.