Mrs. White was soon on the spot. She found Mary lying insensible on the grass, and standing by her, deadly pale, with her fists clenched, and a fierce glare in her eyes, Catherine King.
"What was the cause of this?" asked the little woman, as she administered restoratives to the girl.
Catherine made no reply. The Fury of despairing jealousy had possessed the woman; she scarcely knew where she was, in the first burst of her mad anger; but after a few moments she recollected herself, and said in a hard voice that concealed every emotion:
"My presence seems to do her harm. I will go away. Good-bye, Mrs. White; I see the fly has arrived," then abruptly, without another word, she walked out of the cottage gate and was driven off. She never so much as once turned her head to look at the insensible girl.
Mrs. White was intensely amazed. "And this," she thought, "is the aunt Mary describes as having so much affection for her!"
The White Knight had indeed considerably foiled Catherine King's scheme. It even looked as if he would checkmate her soon.