"Would that I could."
"Not severely—not fatally, at least?"
"I fear mortally."
"My God! my God!" and she burst into a paroxysm of almost hysterical weeping.
The conversation had all passed in the English tongue, yet, as it were, instinctively, Marguerita caught their meaning, and she uttered one long, piercing shriek, and fell lifeless to all appearance.
The surgeon and Julia hastened to raise her up, but Pierre said quietly:
"Let her be—let her be if there is no danger. It is better she should be senseless until all is over."
"There is no danger," said Maxwell, with an air of wonder.
"God bless you, then, good Maxwell; betake you where you may do more good—my days are numbered. Commend me to McCulloch and Gillespie. My rifle to the first, my pistols to the latter, and this, doctor," he added, as he handed him his knife. "Yourself, Gordon, will keep my horse. Bury me in my blanket with my sword by my side. Fare you well. Now, lady," he added, turning his eyes to Julia Gordon, "in your ear. You will permit me Gordon?"
"Surely—most surely."