They were bringing the injured man into the hall, lying upon a stretcher, the pallid face uncovered, the eyes closed, as though Death had already set his seal there.
One glance, and Beatrix flew to the side of the stretcher with a wild cry which re-echoed through the house like a knell. But cries of pain and anguish were of too common an occurrence there to excite any comment.
She fell upon her knees beside the sofa where the injured man had been placed, and wrung her hands in frantic grief.
"Keith! Keith!" she wailed, in her wild, bitter anguish. "It is Keith, my husband, and he is dead!"
That agonized cry seemed to bring Keith back to life. The beautiful dark eyes flared swiftly open, and rested upon the white, terrified face bending over his own.
"Beatrix!"
The name faltered from his pale lips in one wild, joyous outcry; then the eyelids fluttered down and he was unconscious once more. Beatrix rose to her feet, pale and still.
"Take him up to my own room," she said, turning to the men who had borne that still form into the house. "He will be my especial care.—He is my husband!" Then she added, after a slight pause: "If you will carry him up now, I will lead the way."
They obeyed her without a word, and Keith Kenyon was carried to his wife's room, and placed in bed, while the physicians took possession of him, and Beatrix hastened away to tell Sister Angela.