“Yes, dearest—­yes, beloved,” replied Lord Sherbrooke—­“it is blood—­blood shed by your husband’s hand; but oh, inadvertently, clear girl.  I rashly fired amongst the men that were pursuing me, and have killed the only woman that I ever loved!” And he struck his hand vehemently against his forehead, with a gesture of despair that could not be mistaken.

“Come, come, young gentleman,” said a man who seemed the leader of the bluff sailors around him, “don’t take on so.  Some one has gone for a surgeon.  There’s a clever one at Halstow, I know, and mayhap the young lady is not so much hurt.  At all events, you did not do it to hurt her, that’s clear enough; and I rather fancy we’ve all been in a mistake together.  For if you were flying from people looking out to take you, you were not the goods we were after—­for we were looking for people that were coming to take us.

“They came down and said that a gentleman had come down with a Messenger to look after our little traffic, and have some of us up for it.  Now we intended to plant the Messenger in the bog till we had got all things ready and the ship off, and it was him and his people we were after.  But come along—­bring down the lady to Master Plessis’s.  She will be taken good care of there, I warrant you.  Here, Jack Vanoorst!—­you’re a bit of a surgeon yourself, for you doctored my head when the Frenchman broke my crown one day.  See if you can’t stop the blood, at least till we get the lady to old Plessis’s, and the surgeon comes.”

A broad-built elderly man advanced, and, with whatever materials could be obtained upon the spot, made a sort of bandage and compress by the dim light, and applied it dexterously enough, while Caroline lay with her head upon her husband’s bosom, and her hand clasped in his.

Sherbrooke looked down in her face while this was done with agony depicted in his countenance; nor was that agony rendered the less by seeing a faint look of happiness come over her face as she thus rested, and by feeling her hand press gently upon his.  It all seemed to say, “I could willingly die thus.”

When the bandage had been applied, Lord Sherbrooke, though he shook in every limb with agitation and anxiety, took her in his arms and raised her, saying to the men, “Now show me the way.”

But that way was long.  The young nobleman put forth his strength too much at first in the effort to carry her quickly, and after bearing her on for about a mile, he paused and faltered.

“Let one of our people carry her,” said the captain of the vessel, which was lying in the river at no great distance from Plessis’s house—­“there is near a mile to go yet.”

Lord Sherbrooke turned and looked round.  Wilton was close by his side.

“Wilton,” he said, “Wilton, you take her.  With the exception of herself, you are my best friend.  Gently, oh gently!  She is my wife, Wilton, and I know you will not mind the burden.”