“Peggy! Peggy!” gasped Rosalind faintly. Her strength was failing by this time, and she could hardly speak; but Lady Darcy’s face stiffened into an awful anger at the sound of that name. She turned like a tigress to her husband, her face quivering with anger.
“That girl again! That wicked girl! It is the second time to-night! She has killed the child; but she shall be punished! I’ll have her punished! She shall not kill my child, and go free! I’ll—I’ll——”
“Hush, hush, Beatrice! Take care! You frighten Rosalind. We must get her to bed. There is not a moment to lose.”
Lord Darcy beckoned to one of the servants who, by this time, were crowding in at the door, and between them they lifted poor, groaning Rosalind in their arms and carried her up the staircase, down which she had tripped so gaily a few hours before. Tenderly as they held her, she moaned with every movement, and when she was laid on her bed, it seemed for a moment as if consciousness were about to forsake her. Then suddenly a light sprung into her eyes. She lifted her hand and gasped out one word—just one word—repeated over and over again in a tone of agonised entreaty.
“Peggy! Peggy! Peggy!”
“Yes, darling, yes! I’ll go to her. Be quiet—only be quiet!”
Lady Darcy turned away with a shudder as the maid and an old family servant began the task of removing the clothes from Rosalind’s writhing limbs, and, seizing her husband by the arm, drew him out on the landing. Her face was white, but her eyes gleamed, and the words hissed as they fell from her lips.
“Find that girl and turn her out of this house! I will not have her here another hour! Do you hear—not a minute! Send her away at once before I see her! Don’t let me see her! I can’t be responsible for what I would do!”
“Yes, yes, dear, I’ll send her away! Try to calm yourself. Remember you have work to do. Rosalind will need you.”
The poor old lord went stooping away, his tired face looking aged and haggard with anxiety. His beautiful young daughter was scarcely less dear to him than to her mother, and the sound of her cries cut to his heart, yet in the midst of his anguish he had a pang of compassion for the poor child who, as he believed, was the thoughtless cause of the accident. What agony of remorse must be hers! What torture she would now be suffering!