'And Mathews?' asked Lord Durwent slowly.
'We found him after the attack,' the American answered. 'He must have dragged himself several yards after he had been hit, and was lying unconscious, with his hand stretched out to touch Dick's boot. Have you heard nothing from him, sir?'
'Nothing.'
Again there was a silence fraught with such intensity that Selwyn thought the very beating of his pulses could be heard. At last Lord Durwent rose, and with an air of deepest respect placed the medal in the hands of his wife. Her theatricalism was mute in a sorrow that was free from shame.
'Captain Selwyn,' said Lord Durwent, 'we shall never forget.'
Feeling that his presence was making the situation only the more acute,
Selwyn pleaded the excuse of the waiting horse to hasten his departure.
'But you will stay here for the night?' said Lady Durwent.
'No—thank you very much. I have left my haversack at the inn; and, besides, I must catch the 7.45 train to London in the morning to keep an important appointment. Good-night, Lady Durwent.'
Amidst subdued but earnest good wishes from the peer and his wife, he wished them good-bye and turned to Elise.
'Good-night,' he said, his face flaming suddenly red.