He made no sign; he uttered no sound, his features hardly visible from the position against the light; but the sight of that figure was enough to bring like a flood the recollections of the past, and of what might have been, but for her irrevocable step; and, snatching her hand from her husband’s arm, Claude clasped her forehead as she uttered a low, faint cry, and fell heavily upon the floor.
“Keep back, all of you!” cried Glyddyr excitedly. “Do you hear, keep back. The carriage, there. Do you hear me? Keep back!”
He lifted Claude from where she lay, and bore her out, holding her tightly in his arms, as if he feared that she might be snatched away by him who had caused this shock.
“Curse him!” he muttered, as the carriage was driven back to the Fort at a canter; “but he’s too late. The dark horse has won, Chris Lisle, and the stakes are mine.”
Claude was still insensible when the carriage stopped, and Glyddyr resigned her to Sarah Woodham’s arms.
“A bit faint, that’s all,” he said, with a half laugh. “She’ll be better soon.”
“You—you are married, sir?” faltered the woman, looking at him wildly.
“You bet!” he snarled, as he turned away, and strode into the library, but came back looking ghastly and slamming the door. “Here, some one bring the spirits into the dining-room; not in there. Quick! don’t you see your mistress is taken ill?”
“Open the door,” whispered Woodham; “we’ll take her in there.”
“No; in the dining-room—anywhere,” cried Glyddyr. “Don’t take her there.