"If you would like to ride," said Hermann—who, with the others, was quite deceived by Will's manner—"you can get Hans Halm's wagen, that was waiting for the baskets and things. Spiegelmann will show you the way. You are not badly hurt?"
"Not at all; not at all. Miss Brunel, will you continue with the party?"
"No," she said, firmly; "I am going back to Schönstein."
"And I," said the Count. "I can't allow you to go unattended. I don't care about any more shooting——"
"Nonsense," said Will (with an inward conviction that two minutes' more talking would find him stretched on the ground); "go on with your sport; and I'll come out to meet you in the evening."
Fortunately, when they reached the shaky old travelling-carriage outside the forest, they found some wine, a good draught of which somewhat revived the wounded man. The hampers and other things were speedily thrown out, and, Spiegelmann having returned to the shooting-party, Will and Miss Brunel got into the vehicle and were driven homewards.
Neither spoke a single word all the way. Once, and quite inadvertently, her hand touched his; and she drew it away. The next moment she looked into his face, and perhaps saw some slight shade of vexation there, for she immediately covered his stained fingers with her own. It was as though she said, "I know your sad secret, but we may at least continue friends."
CHAPTER XIX.
FLIGHT.
It was a change indeed! Life all at once became solemn and full of mystery to her—full of trouble, too, and perplexity. So soon as a messenger had been despatched to Donaueschingen, for a surgeon who was skilled in the extraction of buck-shot, Annie Brunel went up to her own room, and sat down there alone. And she felt as if the air had grown thick around her, and was pressing on her; she felt that the old audacious cheerfulness had gone from her; and that the passion, and glow, and terrible earnestness of her stage-life were invading this other life, which used to be full of a frivolous, careless happiness.