like a statue of stone, every nerve strained, every pulse beating almost to bursting. The servants had heard it then, or had they like Amy been watching? There stood the greyheaded butler; how ominous was his face, how grave the faces of those men near him, all waiting, all dreading—what? Mr. Linchmore was the first to enter; a painful, anxious expression on his face. "Thank God!" exclaimed the old butler, as he saw him; he had been anxious for his master, whom he had known as a boy. Were his fears then at rest? No; he was again about to speak, when, "Hush!" Mr. Linchmore said. Then to those behind, "tread softly," and again, "where is your mistress ?" He passed quickly on, almost brushing Amy's dress, as she stood so white and still in the shade, looking on, watching, noting everything. The other half of the hall door opened; on they came, those dark forms, and others with them, steadying them, clearing the way for them as they went. They bore a litter, but the form that rested so motionless on it could not be seen, a cloak covered it. One man stood quite close to Amy as he held open the door for the rest to pass through. She touched his arm gently. She tried to speak, but her tongue refused to utter those anxious words. But there was no need; he looked in her face and understood the mute anguish, the agonised look of her eyes. "It's only one of the young gents, Miss. Mr. Vavser I think they calls 'im." It was not Charles Linchmore, then. The reaction was too great. As they bore the litter on past her up the staircase, she uttered no cry, but her slight form trembled for an instant-wavered -and the next fell heavily almost at Charles' feet, as he hastily entered the hall. CHAPTER IX. GOING AWAY. "Our faults are at the bottom of our pains; YOUNG. "It is not granted to man to love and to be wise." BACON. FOR a moment Charles stood mute with amaze ment, the next he bent over the poor prostrate form, and lifted it tenderly in his arms. 66 'Bring her in here," said a voice, while a hand was laid on his arm, and he gentle force into the library. was impelled with There he laid Amy her side, took the on the sofa, and kneeling by small lifeless hand in his, and pressed it to his lips and forehead; then gently pushed the soft fair hair off her face, and as he did so felt the marble coldness of her cheek. Then a strange fear crept over him: he rose, and bent his ear close to her mouth; but no gentle breathing struck his ear. All was still and silent, even his loving words and the endearing names he called her, failed to bring back life, or restore warmth to that still and apparently lifeless form. He turned his face, now blanched almost as white as the one he was bending over, to Frances, for it was she who had asked him to bring Amy there, and now stood by the door so despairingly, watching his every action, listening to his words; those loving, cruel words which told how completely, how entirely his heart was another's. If he could but have seen into her heart, how averse he would have been to ask her assistance for Amy! How much misery might have been spared him. "Is she dead?" he asked, fearfully. "Dead!" exclaimed Frances. "No, she has only fainted." "I never saw any one look so like death," he said softly, as he again took her hands and chafed them in his. "Perhaps not. I dare say your experience is not very great?" "Can nothing be done for her? must she die like this?" “A great deal might be done for her,” replied Frances, advancing, "but nothing while you bend over her in that way. I will soon bring her too, if you will only let me come near.” "Then why in the name of fortune don't you begin to try something? For God's sake, Frances, do rouse yourself a little from that cold marble nature of yours, and throw a little warmth and feeling into your actions.” She took no notice of his hasty, almost angry words. "Could you fetch me some Eau-de-Cologne ?" she asked. "Go quietly," for he was rushing off in desperate haste, "it is as well no one suspects or knows of this, and bring a glass of water also." |