He left off, without concluding; and nobody answered.  But the tone of bitter grief and agony in which Lord Sherbrooke spoke was not to be mistaken:  there was in it the overpowering energy of passionate grief; and everybody made way for him.  In a moment he bad snatched the form of the unhappy lady from the man who held her in his arms, and supporting her himself, partly on his knee, partly on his bosom, he kissed her again and again vehemently, eagerly, we may almost say frantically, exclaiming, “And I have killed thee, my Caroline!  I have killed thee, my beloved, my wife, my own dear wife!  I have killed thee, noble, and true, and kind!  Oh, open your eyes, dear one, open your eyes and gaze upon me for a minute!  She is living, she is living!” he added wildly—­“she does open her eyes!—­Quick, some one call a surgeon!—­A hundred guineas to the first who brings me a surgeon!—­God of Heaven! how has this happened?—­Oh yes, she is living, she is reviving!—­Wilton, for pity’s sake, for mercy’s sake, help me!”

Wilton Brown had followed Lord Sherbrooke rapidly; for a sudden apprehension had crossed his mind immediately the words were pronounced, “He has shot the lady,” lest by some accident Lady Laura had fallen into the hands of the people who were approaching, and that she it was who had been wounded or killed by the rash act of his friend.  The moment he came up, however, he perceived that the lady’s face was unknown to him, and he saw also that the men who stood round, deprived of all power and activity by a horrible event, which they only vaguely comprehended, were anything but the persons he had expected to see.  They seemed to be almost all common sailors; and though they were in general evidently Englishmen, they were habited more in the fashion of the Dutch seamen of that day.  They were well armed, it is true, but still they bore not the slightest appearance of being connected with Sir John Fenwick and the party to which lie was attached; and the horror and consternation which seemed to have taken possession of them all, at the injury which had been inflicted on the unhappy lady, showed that they were anything but feelingless or hardened.

One rapid glance over the scene before his eyes had shown Wilton this; and he now stood beside Lord Sherbrooke, gazing with painful interest on a picture, the full horror of which he divined better than the others who surrounded them.

Almost as Lord Sherbrooke spoke, however, and before Wilton could reply, the lady made a slight movement of her hand, and raised her head.  Her eyes were open, and she turned to Lord Sherbrooke, gazing on his face for a moment, as if to be certain who he was.

“Oh, Sherbrooke,” she said at length, in a faint voice, “fly, fly!—­I was very foolish to faint.—­I am better now.  The men will be upon you in a minute—­Oh Heaven, they are all round us!  Oh how weak it was to faint and keep you here till they have taken you.—­I am better now,” she said, in answer to a whispered inquiry of Lord Sherbrooke, as he pressed her to his heart.  “But I must have hurt my shoulder in falling, for it pains me very much.”  And putting her hand towards it, she drew it suddenly away, exclaiming, “Good Heaven, it is blood!”