“Oh young man, young man,” she cried, “is it you that have done this?”

“Yes, Lady Helen,” he answered, rather bitterly—­“yes, after nearly killing her in another way, it is I who have shed her blood.  But the first was the criminal act, not the last.  The shot was unintentional:  the wounds given by my words were the guilty ones.”

“No, no, Sherbrooke!” said Caroline, raising her head faintly, and again stretching out her hand towards him—­“No, no, dear Henry.  You love me; that is enough!”

She could speak no more; and Plessis, whose senses were in a state of greater precision than those of any other person, exclaimed, eagerly, “Don’t stand here talking about it, but carry the lady to her bedchamber.—­This way, young gentleman; this way, this way!”

And passing by, he led onward to the room in which the unfortunate lady had received her husband’s note that very morning.  Wilton laid her gently on the bed; and closing her eyes for a moment, she gave a slight shudder, either with chilliness or pain.  But a movement in the apartment caused her to look round again, and she said, eagerly, “Do not leave me, Sherbrooke!  Do not leave me, my husband.  You must stay with me now.”

“Leave you, my Caroline!” he said, “oh no!  I will never leave you more!  I must atone for what I have done.  Only promise me, promise me, Caroline, to live, to forgive, and to bless me.”

“I do forgive you, I do bless you, Sherbrooke,” she answered.

Before he could reply, a gentleman habited in a riding dress, and a large red roquelaure, entered the room hastily, threw off his hat and cloak, and advanced at once with a somewhat rough air to the bedside.

“What is this?” he said, quickly, but not in an ungentle tone.  “Where is the lady hurt?—­Bring me linen and water.—­You may give her a little wine too.—­She is faint from loss of blood;” and advancing to the bedside, he took Caroline’s hand kindly in his own, saying, “Do not be alarmed, my dear.  These things happen every day in battle; and women get well better than soldiers, for they are more patient and resigned.  I see where the wound is.  Do not be afraid;” and he put his hand upon her shoulder, running it round on both sides.  The moment he had done so, he looked about him with a bright and beaming smile upon his lip, and the colour coming somewhat up into his cheek.

“She will do well,” he said—­“let no one alarm themselves:  the ball has passed upon the right of the artery, and I feel it just above the scapula.  She will do well!”

An audible “Thank God!” burst from every lip around; and Caroline herself, at the sudden change, from the apprehension of death to the hope of life, burst into silent tears.

“What are all these men doing here?” demanded the good surgeon, turning bluffly round.  “Leave none but the women with me, and not too many of them.”

The sailors began to move away at this command, and Wilton followed; but Lord Sherbrooke kept his place, saying, “I must remain!”