And without a look, or even a glance at Amy, he went with a slow, uncertain step across the room. As he reached the door, Amy moved slightly and sighed, but ere she opened her eyes, the door had closed on his retreating form, and he was gone.
"Are you better now?" asked Frances kindly. She could afford to be kind now she thought the field was won, and Charles' heart turned from her, she hoped for ever.
"Thank you, yes," said Amy, confusedly, and striving to collect her thoughts. "How came I here? Who brought me?"
"Do not talk just yet, you are scarcely equal to it. One of the men carried you in here."
"One of the men? No one else saw me, then?"
"No one."
Then it could not have been Charles Linchmore's voice she had heard, as she lay only half-restored to consciousness? Nor his form she had dimly seen retreating through the half open door, as she opened her eyes? She must have fancied it.
"I was so shocked, Miss Strickland," began Amy, trying to make some apology for her fainting, "and you know I am not very strong yet, and—"
"Do not make any excuses, Miss Neville; the sight was enough to frighten anyone. I felt sick myself, but there was not much occasion for it, as I have ascertained Mr. Vavasour is not much hurt; but I thought, as you did, he was dead."