Part 32 (1/2)

Orange had already left the room and was in the road. When he returned, he gave her the newspaper and did not attempt to speak. But he closed the window in order to shut out, if possible, the hideous cry.

”Where is it? I can't see! In which column?” said Sara.

He pointed to a corner on the third page, where she read in black, rough type:--

”_Lord Reckage was thrown from his horse at Hyde Park Corner this afternoon. He was removed to Almouth House. His injuries are said to be of a very dangerous nature._”

She crushed the paper in her hand, and the two stood looking at each other, stupefied by the blow.

”I am going to him,” said Robert.

”And I must go home,” whispered the girl. ”He always said that Pluto would be the death of him.”

They went down the stairs together without exchanging a word. Orange walked with her to St. James's Square. Neither could speak. On parting, she faltered,--

”Let me know ... how he is....”

CHAPTER XXIV

Lord Reckage had been carried through the hall of Almouth House, but not up the famous staircase of which he was so proud. He looked at it as they bore him to the library, and although he was still in a kind of stupor, the terrified servants could read in his eyes the certain knowledge that he would never behold the marble walls or the portraits of his ancestors again.

”Are you in pain, my lord? is your lords.h.i.+p in pain?” sobbed the housekeeper. His features were injured and his face was perfectly pallid--so much changed that he could not have been immediately recognised. Four doctors--one of them a pa.s.ser-by at the time of the accident--had a.s.sembled. They found one shoulder was severely injured, and the right collar-bone broken. He complained of great pain in his side.

”Am I going to die, Sir Thomas?” said he.

”Why should you die?” replied the distinguished surgeon. ”But you have had a nasty fall.”

”Pluto s.h.i.+ed at something,” answered his lords.h.i.+p; ”mind they don't shoot him. I won't have him shot.”

Then, for a few moments, he lost consciousness.

When Orange arrived, the physicians were looking very grave, and telegrams had been despatched to all the young man's near relatives.

”He has called for you several times,” said Sir Thomas; ”and,” he added, dropping his voice, ”is there any lady who could meet ... the family? I fancy I caught a lady's name more than once. Could it have been----”

”Sara,” suggested Orange, to relieve his embarra.s.sment.

”It certainly sounded like Sara.”

”Then I will send Lord Garrow a note--she is Lord Garrow's daughter--a lifelong friend. Is there no hope?”

”He may have a pretty good night.”

Robert bowed his head and asked no more. He sat by the dying man, whose sufferings, although they were a little alleviated by morphia, made him restless. He moaned even in his s.n.a.t.c.hes of sleep, and spoke occasionally--always about the accident. Once he mentioned Agnes:

”Agnes will be sorry when she hears.”

Toward daybreak he turned to Orange, and said quite simply--