"I am afraid, young woman, you will scarcely get home to breakfast this morning," said Mr. Merry.
"We'll see that presently," answered Cap, composedly, as they all left the office, and crossed the street to the Antlers.
They were conducted by the landlord to a chamber on the first floor, where upon a bed lay stretched, almost without breath or motion, the form of Craven Le Noir. His face was still covered with blood, that the bystanders had scrupulously refused to wash off until the arrival of the magistrate. His complexion, as far as it could be seen, was very pale. He was thoroughly prostrated, if not actually dying.
Around his bed were gathered the village doctor, the landlady and several maid-servants.
"The squire has come, sir; are you able to speak to him?" asked the landlord, approaching the bed.
"Yes, let him swear me," feebly replied the wounded man, "and then send for a clergyman."
The landlady immediately left to send for Mr. Goodwin, and the magistrate approached the head of the bed, and, speaking solemnly, exhorted the wounded man, as he expected soon to give an account of the works done in his body, to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, without reserve, malice or exaggeration, both as to the deed and its provocation.
"I will I will—for I have sent for a minister and I intend to try to make my peace with heaven," replied Le Noir.
The magistrate then directed Capitola to come and take her stand at the foot of the bed, where the wounded man, who was lying on his back, could see her without turning.
Cap came as she was commanded and stood there with some irrepressible and incomprehensible mischief gleaming out from under her long eye-lashes and from the corners of her dimpled lips.