“We must lay him on my bed,” said Mr. Belamour.  Then, seeing the girl’s horror-stricken countenance, “Ah, child, would that you had been patient; but it was overtasking you!  Call Aylward, I beg of you.  Tell her he is here, badly hurt.  What, you do not know him,” as her bewildered eyes and half-opened lips implied the question she could not utter, “you do not know him?  Sir Amyas—­my nephew—­ your true husband!”

“Oh! and I have killed him!” she cried, with clasped hands.

“Hush, child, no, with God’s mercy!  Only call the woman and bring a light.”

She rushed away, and appeared, a pale terrified figure, with the smell of fire on her hair and white dress, in the room where Mrs. Aylward was reading her evening chapter.  She could scarcely utter her message as she stood under the gaze of blank amazement; but Mrs. Aylward understood enough to make her start up without another word, and hurry away, candle in hand.

Aurelia took up the other, and followed, trembling.  When she reached the outer room the rush of air almost blew out her light, and pausing, afraid to pass on, she perceived that Mr. Belamour and Jumbo were carrying the insensible form between them into the inner apartment, while a moan or two filled her heart with pangs of self-reproach.

She hung about, in terrible anxiety, but not daring to come forward while the others were engaged about the sufferer, for what seemed a very long time before she heard Mrs. Aylward say, “His arm is broke, sir.  We must send for Dr. Hunter.  The maids are all in their beds, but I will go and wake one, and send her to the stables to call the groom.”

“I had best go,” said Mr. Belamour.  “You are of more use than I. He sleeps at the stables, you say?” Then, seeing the waiting, watching form of Aurelia, he said, “Come in, my poor child.  Perhaps your voice may rouse him.”  Every one, including himself, seemed to have forgotten Mr. Belamour’s horror of the light, for candles were flaring on all the tables, as he led the you girl in, saying, “Speak to him.”

At the death-like face in its golden hair, Aurelia’s voice choked in her throat, and it was in an unnatural hoarse tone that she tried to say, “Sir—­Sir Amyas—­”

“I trust he will soon be better,” said Mr. Belamour, marking her dismay and grief with his wonted kindness, “but his arm needs the surgeon, and I must be going.  Let Lady Belamour sit here, Mrs. Aylward.  I trust you with the knowledge.  It was my nephew, in disguise, who wedded her, unknown to her.  She is entirely blameless.  Let Jumbo fetch her a cordial.  There, my child, take this chair, so that his eyes may fall on you when he opens them.  Bathe his head if you will.  I shall return quickly after having sped the groom on his journey.”