"But that's not all, your honour," continued Charcam; "Mrs. Norris says she's dying."
"Dying, Sir Rowland. She was taken dreadfully ill on the road, with spasms and short breath, and swoonings,—worse than ever she was before. And Mrs. Norris was so frightened that she ordered the postboys to drive back as fast as they could. She never expected to get her ladyship home alive."
"My God!" cried Trenchard, stunned by the intelligence, "I have killed her."
"No doubt," rejoined Wild, with a sneer; "but don't let all the world know it."
"They're lifting her out of the carriage," interposed Charcam; "will it please your honour to send for some advice and the chaplain?"
"Fly for both," returned Sir Rowland, in a tone of bitter anguish.
"Stay!" interposed Jonathan. "Where are the boys?"
"In the hall."
"Her ladyship will pass through it?"