“Who did this?” cried Lord Carboro’ quickly. “Mr Burnett, do you know?”
Burnett did not speak, and the answer came from May, in a feeble, dreamy voice.
“It was poor Louis,” she said. “I saw him this evening—watching me—he must have followed. Ah!”
“Quick! Get in first, Miss Denville,” cried Mellersh. “Draw her away, Dick, for God’s sake! The poor little thing will bleed to death. Good heavens!”
The last words were uttered in a low tone, as from out of the darkness a tall gaunt figure staggered up and sank down beside the injured girl.
“Too late! Too late! May! my child! Blood! She is dead—my darling. She is dead!”
“Hush, sir! She has fainted,” cried Linnell. “Mr Denville! For heaven’s sake, sir, be firm. Command yourself. A terrible mishap. Mrs Burnett must be got back to the town at once. Can you act calmly?”
“Certainly. I’ll try,” groaned the Master of the Ceremonies; and then, “Too late—too late!”
He rose, holding one little hand in his as Claire tottered into the carriage, and May was lifted to her side.
“Now, Mr Denville. In—quick!” cried Linnell. “Straight home. The postboys shall warn a doctor as they pass.”