"Victory! blessed be God!" exclaimed Heriot, as he struck his hands together, and thought of Rose Basset, with her sweet loving smiles, and an honest moisture dimmed his eyes; "he lives, after all!"
"Thanks to your skill, doctor," said Tom Bartelot; "the world should hear of this."
"Nay—no thanks to me," replied Heriot; "what used we to learn at school, Morrison? Lux venit ab alto!"
"'All light comes from above,'" translated Morrison, without hesitation.
A low wail beside them made all turn from the bed whereon the body lay, and, to their dismay, they beheld Ethel standing near, pale as death, mute and rigid, her large dark eyes dilated with blank horror and bewilderment, while surveying the scene before her, as if she strove, but failed, to realise or understand it.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW.
"Ah, Miss Basset; leave us—do leave us, for Heaven's sake—this is no scene for you!" said Heriot, half imperatively, half entreatingly. "Ashton, I can ill spare you, but do lead her away. Tell her all, if you choose, now. There is, I hope, no further fear."
Morley put his arms round Ethel, and lifted her back into her cabin.
Still she did not speak, though her pale lips and inquiring eyes showed how eagerly she sought an explanation of the terrible scene formed by the busy group; but Morley was silent, for he knew not how to begin, and contented himself by repeating, as people usually do, that she must compose herself, be calm, and so forth.