"I don't think he will ever get better again," Benedict gravely replied; "he is old, and it is a terrible wound."
"Neither do I think he will weather it," added Crowleigh; "I have seen men hurt like that before, fair Mistress Margaret, and we soldiers soon recognise the mark of death."
Slowly and with great care the poor father was carried into the hall, and as soon as he was laid upon his bed, seeing that there were no signs of returning consciousness, Margaret and Dorothy quietly retired.
"Meg," exclaimed the younger sister, with glistening eyes, as they sat in cheerless solitude before the blazing logs in their own room, "I have something to tell thee, and I shall mayhap want your aid ere I have done."
She stopped short, to see if her sister had guessed her secret, but it was apparently undiscovered, so she went on.
"I don't expect Lady Maude will be very willing; she always opposes us, does she not?"
"Sometimes," said Margaret drily.
"He is not so rich as De la Zouch," pursued Dorothy, "so I don't think she will agree to it at first."
"To what? What do you mean? Father Philip's accident has turned your head, I verily believe," replied her sister, as a terrible suspicion of the truth flashed into her imagination.
"Nay, Meg, dear, listen. I have plighted my troth to-night."