Very slowly and shakily he made his way to the coach-house; but, when he was come there, he stood erect, almost without support, and took in the melancholy scene. Dennis, white and haggard, started up from a stool on which he was seated beside a rough pallet stretched on the ground; but his master put a finger to his lips, and motioned him to silence. Then he went and sat himself down on the vacant seat and looked upon the stricken man.
“Luvaine!” he said, softly.
The dying soldier stirred and gave out a little moan. His face was so scorched and disfigured with gunpowder as to be hardly recognizable, and all the upper part of his body was swollen to grotesque proportions; but the coat that had been drawn over his paralyzed lower limbs lay as flat as though nothing but its natural folds raised it from the floor.
“Luvaine,” said Tuke again, “can you hear me?”
As he spoke the door was opened, and Sir David entered. He looked a fagged and worn little man, but a light of bantam heroism glinted in his eyes.
“Tuke!” he exclaimed in astonishment.
“I have slept, Blythewood, and have found a little of myself again. There is something more I have found—hush, man! the stone.”
“Great God!”
He closed the door and came forward, gasping.
“The stone!” he said, in a hoarse whisper.