He was in a deep and death-like swoon, and when he opened his dim eyes again, he found himself supported on the white arm of Violet Earle, while a flood of tears rained from her dark blue eyes.
The doctors came and examined him. They found that the wound was not so bad as was at first supposed.
It was a flesh-wound in the left lung, and, though dangerous, not necessarily fatal.
They thought the assassin had aimed for the heart, but had missed it in the darkness.
They carried him to Laurel Hill, and Walter Earle and every other man in the neighborhood set out on a hot pursuit of the daring abductor of the beautiful girl-bride.
Public indignation was thoroughly aroused, and public opinion pointed unerringly to the perpetrator of the terrible outrage.
All remembered that Gerald Huntington had sworn an oath of vengeance against Jaquelina Meredith the night on which she had effected his capture.
Meanwhile Ronald Valchester, lying in a cool, white chamber at Laurel Hill, and lovingly tended by careful hands, was racked by the pain of his wound and the still greater anguish of his mental suffering.
He had lost her, his bonny, dark-eyed bride. She had been torn from his side in the very moment when she was about to be made his own forever.