He walked towards it, bending forward with straining eyes. Another curtain of the same pattern as that which had enveloped Rosalind—a curtain of rich Oriental hues with an unaccountable patch of white in the centre. What was it? It must be part of the fabric itself. Lord Darcy told himself that he had no doubt on the subject, yet the way across the room seemed unaccountably long, and his heart beat fast with apprehension. In another moment he stood in the corner, and knew too well the meaning of that patch of white, for Peggy Saville lay stretched upon the curtain, motionless, unconscious—to all appearance, dead!
Chapter Twenty Four.
The Valley of the Shadow.
It was one o’clock in the morning when a carriage drove up to the door of the Larches, and Mrs Asplin alighted, all pale, tear-stained, and tremulous. She had been nodding over the fire in her bedroom when the young people had returned with the news of the tragic ending to the night’s festivity, and no persuasion or argument could induce her to wait until the next day before flying to Peggy’s side.
“No, no!” she cried. “You must not hinder me. If I can’t drive, I will walk! I would go to the child to-night, if I had to crawl on my hands and knees! I promised her mother to look after her. How could I stay at home and think of her lying there? Oh, children, children, pray for Peggy! Pray that she may be spared, and that her poor parents may be spared this awful—awful news!”
Then she kissed her own girls, clasped them to her in a passionate embrace, and drove off to the Larches in the carriage which had brought the young people home.
Lady Darcy came out to meet her, and gripped her hand in welcome.
“You have come! I knew you would. I am so thankful to see you. The doctor has come, and will stay all night. He has sent for a nurse—”