“I never dreamed of your doing such a thing. If you don’t mind waiting here——”
She interrupted him with a cry of dismay.
“So close to Bates’ bull?”
“I beg your pardon,” he said penitently, and then stood pulling at his mustache—a way he had when puzzled or annoyed.
At last he added hesitatingly:
“My house is close here, and if you would not mind my carrying you there, Mrs. Whittaker, the housekeeper, would be able to attend to you until the doctor came. I cannot think of any better plan at this moment; and, of course, I shall not enter the Hall until I have fetched Lady Teignmouth. It is ridiculous to trouble about conventionalities at such a time, Lady Gwendolyn, when the least neglect or delay might cause you to be a cripple for life. Are you not of my opinion?”
“Quite,” she replied, with a strange gleam as of suppressed triumph in her beautiful eyes. “Only that I am afraid you will find that the burden laid upon you is heavier than you can bear.”
“We shall see,” he said, lifting her in his stalwart arms as easily as if she had been a child. “Would you mind putting your arm round my shoulder, just to steady yourself?”
Lady Gwendolyn obeyed him with the simplicity that is always such perfect breeding; and when Colonel Dacre looked down at the creamy cheek resting on his shoulder, and felt the warm coil of her arm round his neck, he could hardly resist the mad temptation to press her against his heart, and tell her again and again how he loved her—so passionately that he would have deemed the world well lost for her sweet sake.