Arno Raven lay stretched on the ground, and the white rime on the grass around him grew dark with a deep-red stain.
Max hastily assured himself that his father was unhurt, and then hurried to the side of the wounded man, whom the Colonel was already endeavouring to succour. Brunnow stood motionless, clutching his pistol, and gazing over with fixed, vacant eyes at the group opposite him. The gentleman who had acted as his second came up to him and spoke.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, in a low voice. "Was it not the Baron who challenged you? He fired in the air."
The word seemed to dispel the torpor which paralysed Brunnow. He threw down his pistol, and rushed over to the others.
"Arno!" he cried, with an exceeding bitter cry of despair. Max was attempting to staunch the blood; but his father thrust him violently aside, as though he alone had a right to that place, tore from him the handkerchief, and pressed it to the wound. The young man withdrew in silence, signing to the Colonel and his father's second, who were looking on at the scene in surprise and concern, to step aside with him.
"Can you give the Baron no assistance?" asked the Colonel, in a half-whisper.
"There is none to be given," replied Max. "My first glance at the wound showed me it was mortal. It is only a question of a few minutes, and my father will do what is necessary. I beg of you to leave him alone with the dying man."
"Of the two shots, one only could have proved fatal," said Brunnow's second, meaningly.
The Colonel nodded.
"I saw it too. Raven averted his pistol at the last moment. Strange!"