Chapter Twenty Five.
Drawing together.
Mark bathed the sufferer’s face again, but there was no return to consciousness, and growing more and more alarmed, he hurried to his father’s chamber and woke him, Sir Edward as he leaped up, still dressed, snatching eagerly at his sword. “You, Mark?” he cried. “The enemy?”
“Yes—no, father. Come quickly. Young Darley’s here, dying.”
“Young Darley here!”
“Yes, in my room,” cried Mark wildly. “I’ve sent for Master Rayburn, but come and do something; we mustn’t let the poor fellow die.”
And in a wild incoherent way, he told Sir Edward all he knew.
“Then in their disappointment they went on down there,” cried Sir Edward, as excited now as his son. “The fiends! the monsters!” he continued, as he entered his son’s room. “Poor boy! Oh, Mark, lad, but for God’s mercy, this might have been you. Oh! who can think about the old family enmity now? How long is it since you sent for old Rayburn?”
“Ever so long, father. Oh, I say, don’t—don’t say you think he’ll die, father!”