One ever-recurring question fevered and tormented his harassed mind. To what terrible fate had his darling been devoted by her ruthless foe?
He moaned and tossed in restless delirium all night. They could not soothe him. Opiates failed utterly of effect.
The doctors said it was very bad for his wound. If a fever set in they could not answer for the consequences. But the terribly bereaved bridegroom heeded nothing they said.
He lay all night with his eager, restless eyes fixed upon the door.
Whenever anyone entered he would ask them if they had heard anything—if Walter had returned, and a dozen other anxious questions that were always answered in the negative.
But in the golden dawn of the new day Walter Earle rode into the stable-yard.
His horse was panting and flecked with foam. His master looked weary and jaded, but there was a light of eager joy in his face.
He threw the reins to a servant, and hurried away to the wounded bridegroom's room.
Valchester's heavy eyes, still fixed yearningly on the door, grew bright with joy at his friend's entrance.
"Walter, you bring me news," he cried, eagerly.