"My God! what is it?" said Lady Jane, with white lips.
The woman made no answer, but rather shouldered her, as she herself held the decanter to his mouth; and they could hear the glass clinking on his teeth as her hand trembled, and the claret flowed over his still lips and down upon his throat.
"Lower his head," said the nurse; and she wiped his shining forehead with his handkerchief; and all three stared in his face, pale and stern.
"Call the doctor," at last exclaimed the nurse. "He's not right."
"Doctor's gone, I think," said Tomlinson, still gaping on his master.
"Send for him, man! I tell ye," cried the nurse, scarce taking her eyes from the Baronet.
Tomlinson disappeared.
"Is he better?" asked Lady Jane, with a gasp.
"He'll never be better; I'm 'feared he's gone, ma'am," answered the nurse, grimly, looking on his open mouth, and wiping away the claret from his chin.
"It can't be, my good Lord! it can't—quite well this minute—talking—why, it can't—it's only weakness, nurse! for God's sake, he's not—it is not—it can't be," almost screamed Lady Jane.