"The ball has struck him in the side," said Bowen. "I guess it's about all over with the Britisher."
At the sound of these words of evil import, Cora Leslie opened her eyes, and, beholding the bleeding and prostrate form of her lover, flung herself on her knees at his feet.
"Gilbert, Gilbert!" she cried; "Dead; and I am the cause of this." The mulatto placed his hand upon the breast of the wounded man.
"The heart beats, though faintly," he said; "dear mistress, he will be saved."
"Will you allow him to be carried to your father's villa, Miss Leslie?" said Mortimer; "I will accompany him thither."
"Ah, Mr. Percy," exclaimed Cora, "you are all goodness."
"A hundred dollars for your trouble, Bowen, if you'll assist us in carrying this poor fellow to the boat," said Mortimer.
"A hundred dollars—I'm your man!" replied the American. "You'll excuse me, Mr. Horton, business is business, you know," he added, to Augustus.
Mortimer Percy and the mulatto gathered together several strong branches from the fallen wood lying beneath the trees, and twisted them into a rude litter on which they laid the unconscious Englishman.
One end of this litter was carried by Toby, and the other by William Bowen, Cora and Mortimer walking by the side of the wounded man.