"I will do so," said Celia, and she passed on to the morning-room, where Doctor Scott was giving some directions to his assistant.
So suddenly had the terrible blow fallen that she had scarcely time to think of her lover. It hurt her to imagine him waiting in the wood for her, on the chance of seeing her, and to know that she could not send a message to him, could not let him know. But she told herself that, no doubt, by this time, he had heard of the terrible tragedy and would understand. She could not afford much thought for him; her hands were too full; indeed, in addition to her other responsibilities, she had, in a measure, taken Mrs. Dexter's place in the household, and had to give directions to the still scared servants.
She sent down to the village for the sleeping draught which Doctor Scott prescribed for Miriam, and as soon as she could, went upstairs again. In the corridor, she met Lord Heyton, and he looked so ill, so careworn, that, for a moment, her dislike of him was outbalanced by pity. He nodded to her, and she was about to pass on; then she paused and said:
"Have you had anything to eat, my lord? Everyone is so busy and so confused, there will be no regular meals, I am afraid."
"Oh, that's all right," he said, glancing at her furtively, and then lowering his eyes. "I'm not much in the humour for meals, as you may guess. Has my father come to, yet? Look here, that officious fool of a nurse has shut me out of the room. I wish you'd—yes, look here, just let me know when he comes to. I shall be hanging about. I say," he added, with another furtive glance at her pale face, "you're looking pretty upset yourself. I suppose they've shoved everything on to you.—And there's Miriam! What's become of her?"
"Lady Heyton is in bed—and asleep, I hope, my lord," said Celia; and reluctantly and with a touch of colour, she added, "I think it would be better not to disturb her ladyship; she—she is very much upset; very ill, indeed."
He nodded. "Not to be surprised at!" he said. "I'm feeling pretty seedy myself. Here, will you come with me and have a glass of wine?"
"No, thank you, my lord," replied Celia; and, all her dislike of him active again, she left him.
About six o'clock the watchers by the sick bed noticed a change in the Marquess. His eyelids flickered a moment, his lips moved. Celia, who was standing nearest to him, bent over him and made a sign to Mrs. Dexter and the doctor, and they hastened forward noiselessly. For some time, the stricken man struggled for speech; then one word passed his lips, almost inaudibly,
"Percy!"