“Ye’re reet, lassie—it is, sure enew. It’s Jock Gurdon come back to get his deserts.”
“Blast you!—a doctor—I’m—I’m dy—Here, quick!—a doctor, or I shall bleed to death!” groaned the wretched man.
“Has any one gone for a medical man?” said a stern voice.
“Yes, Sir Mooray, I’ve sent for a doctor and the police, too. It’s gude for us that the loons were quarrelling over the spoil.”
“Isa, my child, this is no place for you!” exclaimed Sir Murray.
“That’s right,” cried Lord Maudlaine, who was also present; “I’ve been asking her to go. My dear Miss Gernon—Isa—what are you about? Don’t go near him!”
Lord Maudlaine might well exclaim, for Isa Gernon, pale and scared, was slowly advancing towards where Brace Norton lay. The eyes of love were more piercing than those of the bystanders; and in those swollen and bleeding features Isa had recognised those of the man who had told her again and again of his love.
“Brace!” she cried, in a low, husky voice, as, falling upon her knees at his side, heedless of all present, she laid her hands upon his; for this could be no burglar, as they had told her—there must be some horrible mystery here.
“Isa!” he whispered, as his eyes met hers for an instant, ere they closed.
“Quick!—quick!” cried the agitated girl. “Father—dear papa—oh, what is this? You have shot him, and he is dying. Oh, quick!—quick!—a doctor!”