“Pardon me, lady,” said Wilton, as he took her gently out of Lord Sherbrooke’s arms, and she raised her head with a faint look of inquiry; “it is your husband’s sincere friend, and I will bear you as carefully as if I were your brother.”

She made no opposition; but no answer, only stretching forth her left arm, which was the unwounded one, to Lord Sherbrooke:  she let her hand rest in his, as if she wished him to retain it; and Wilton remarked, but not displeased, that she suffered not her head to rest upon his bosom, as it had done upon that of his friend.

Considerably taller, and altogether of a more powerful frame than Lord Sherbrooke, he bore her with greater ease; but still anxiety made it seem an age till a glimmering light was seen through the trees at no great distance.

Lord Sherbrooke was then in the act of proposing to carry her again; but the good sailor who had spoken before interfered, saying, “No, no, let him carry her.  It will only hurt her to change so.  There’s the house close by, and he’s stronger than you are; and not knocked down with fright, you see, either, as you are, naturally enough.—­Run on, boy, run on,” he continued, somewhat sharply, to a lad who was with them—­“run on, and tell old Plessis to get down a mattress to carry the lady up in.”

The boy sped away to execute this kind and prudent order; and in a few minutes more, the whole party stood upon the little stone esplanade before the dwelling of Monsieur Plessis.  That worthy personage himself was down, and already in a state of great anxiety and tribulation, being one of those who have an excessive dislike to anything which may bring upon them too much notice of any kind.

The mattress, too, had been brought down, but when Wilton gazed through the door, he turned quickly to his friend, saying, “I had better carry her up at once, Sherhrooke.  I can do it easily, and it will save her the pain of changing her position more than once.”

Without waiting for any one’s consent, he accordingly began to mount the staircase, and had just reached the balustrade of the little sort of square vestibule at top, when the door of an opposite room opened, and the Lady Helen stood before him.

To Wilton, who knew nothing of all the secrets of Plessis’s house, which the reader is already informed of, the sight was like that of an apparition; and to the Lady Helen herself, the sight of Wilton bearing Caroline in his arms, while the light of the lamp that Plessis carried before them shone upon the pale but still beautiful countenance of the poor girl, and showed her dress and that of Wilton both thickly stained and spotted with blood, was not less astounding.

“Oh, Wilton, Wilton,” she cried—­“what is this?—­Caroline, my sweet Caroline, for Heaven’s sake speak!—­for Heaven’s sake look at me!”

The next moment, however, her eyes fell upon Lord Sherbrooke; his countenance also as pale as death, his coat, and collar, and face also bloody.