Margery nodded her head absently; she was lost in the excitement of the moment. She saw the earl wave them further back toward the bushes, felt Pauline draw her on one side, though her eyes never left her husband’s form, and then came a moment of silence. Suddenly a mighty crash sounded in her ears, while a cloud of dust obscured her vision.
“Is it all over?” she asked, vaguely, turning to the squire; but her cousin had left her side and was hurrying to the group of men.
“Miladi will return?” queried Pauline, with a little shudder. “Ah, what terrible noise!”
“I will wait for Lord Court,” answered Margery; then, after a little pause: “But, Pauline, what is the matter? Some one is hurt!”
“They crowd together—that is all, miladi. Shall I go and see?”
“No; I will.”
Drawing her skirts together, Margery left her retreat and approached the group. As the men looked round and perceived her, she thought they seemed alarmed and pained. She quickened her steps, and then the squire came toward her.
“You must let me take you to the house, my dear,” he said hurriedly; “your husband wishes it.”
“What is the matter? Some one is hurt! Cousin Sholto, don’t stop me! I know now—it is Nugent!”
She pushed the squire’s trembling hand to one side, and with swift steps approached the group. The men fell back in silence, and in an instant she was on her knees beside a silent, prostrate form with face of deathly hue.