"There! I can hear her speaking! What is it she says? I know I did it! I plead guilty, my lord! But it was not me only. Where is he? Where is Austin Ambrose? He is worse than I am, my lord. Send me to prison, if you like, but don't let him go scot-free. He is worse than I am! It was he who put me up to it—and now he leaves me to starve! Yes, he did! He threatened me, told me that he'd have me charged, and that he'd swear he knew nothing about it. Where is Austin Ambrose? He is worse than I am, my lord!"
Then she sank down, as if exhausted; but presently she started up with a cry of terror and clutched at Margaret's arm.
"Blair! Blair!" she shrieked, and at the name poor Margaret winced and could scarcely suppress a cry. "Blair will be killed! I heard them say so! Quick! Find him—stop the fight! The prince will kill him! Blair is no match for him—I heard them say so. Oh, for the love of Heaven, don't stand there doing nothing, but find them and stop them!"
The woman of the house crept to the bed, and looking down curiously shrugged her shoulders.
"She is English, lady, is she not? She is in the fever and raves; is it not so? What is it she says?"
"I—I am afraid she is delirious," said Margaret, scarcely knowing what she answered. "Will you go for the English doctor and beg him to come to me at once?"
Lottie caught the word doctor, and raising herself on her elbow, held out her hand imploringly.
"Oh, never mind me!" she panted. "What does it matter about me? It's Blair—Blair you must save! Don't you believe me? I tell you I heard them talking about it before I fell—where was it?" and she put her hand to her head and sank back with a groan.
Margaret sat beside the bed, with one of the girl's wasted, burning hands held tightly in her own.
She could not think—the meeting was too strange and mysterious to permit of her doing that—but she sat in a kind of dull stupor, even after the doctor had come and gone again.