“What is the matter, Mary?” said Lady Bassett.
“Oh, my lady!” said Mary. And she trembled, and her hands worked.
Lady Bassett started up with alarm painted in her countenance.
“My lady, there's something wrong in the hunting field.”
“Sir Charles!”
“An accident, they say.”
Lady Bassett put her hand to her heart with a faint cry. Mary Wells ran to her.
“Come with me directly!” cried Lady Bassett. She snatched up her bonnet, and in another minute she and Mary Wells were on their road to the village, questioning every body they met.
But nobody they questioned could tell them anything. The stable-boy, who had told the report in the kitchen of Huntercombe, said he had it from a gentleman's groom, riding by as he stood at the gates.
The ill news thus flung in at the gate by one passing rapidly by was not confirmed by any further report, and Lady Bassett began to hope it was false.