The evening was drawing towards dusk when the Count returned. He was greatly shocked on discovering that the accident Will had met with was much more serious than had been fancied, and that the surgeon only stared in astonishment when asked if his patient could come downstairs to dinner.
"A man who has lost so much blood," said he, significantly, and speaking slowly, that the Count might understand him, "and who suffers from four or five gunshot wounds, is not likely to sit at table for a day or two."
Annie Brunel did not hear this conversation, and as she still believed that Will had only been slightly hurt, and would be able to go about as usual, she informed the Count at dinner of her intended departure. The Herr Graf looked from one to the other of his guests, without being able to utter a syllable. He had been congratulating himself on the brilliant success of this excursion—on the evident gratification experienced by Miss Brunel, on her expressed admiration for Schönstein and all its surroundings. This decision of hers quashed his dearest hopes.
"You surely do not intend to leave us so soon?" he said. "Mrs. Christmas, are you the traitor in the camp?"
Mrs. Christmas prudently forbore to reply.
"Think of leaving Mr. Anerley, after having knocked him over in that sportsmanlike fashion!" exclaimed the Count. "He will think it very ungenerous of you."
"I am extremely sorry," she said, with a look of pained embarrassment on her dark beautiful face; "but I hope he will forgive our going."
"He may, but I shan't," said the Count. "However, if you will, you will. In any case, I hope I may be allowed to escort you towards your new resting-place."
"We should be more cruel still," said the young girl, "if we took you away from your friend. Believe me, we shall want no assistance."
The tone with which she uttered the words was decisive. It said, "You are very kind; but we mean to go alone."