She felt Rachel's hand upon her sleeve: "What is it?" Rachel said again—"Lizzie, what is it?"
Both women were seized and held by fear. Their feelings for one another were lost, sunk in the cold, shattering sense of disaster that had come, through the open window, into the room.
They could see lights now and figures—There were murmuring voices—
"Oh, Lizzie, what is it?" Rachel said for the third time, and then after a moment—"Roddy!"
Lizzie said—"Wait there. It may be nothing. I'll see—Don't you come for a moment."
She crossed the dark room, and opening the door saw Peters hurrying down the passage towards her. His face was in complete disorder—the face of someone who, throughout his life, has had only one kind of face that has served most admirably for every kind of occasion—suddenly a situation has arisen for which that face will not serve—
His body was shaking—
"Oh! Miss Rand, the master!"
Lizzie felt Rachel follow her, brush past both of them, down the passage and out of sight—
"An accident—flung from his horse and dragged along—been hours on the hill—a shepherd found him."