"Miss Grant, the librarian," murmured the Inspector; and Mr. Jacobs

bowed politely.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Grant," he said. "Wish it were

in happier circumstances. How is the Marquess now?"

"Still the same," replied Celia. "He is not yet conscious."

"Dear me; dear me!" murmured Mr. Jacobs, sympathetically. "Now, my dear

young lady, may I ask you a favour--I don't want to trouble the doctor,

he's got quite enough to do; so have you, no doubt, for that matter; but

you know what doctors are?--What I want you to do, if you will be so

kind, and if you should be in the room and the Marquess recovers

consciousness, is to just send to me in the sitting-room here and let me

know."

"I will do so," said Celia, and she passed on to the morning-room, where

Doctor Scott was giving some directions to his assistant.

So suddenly had the terrible blow fallen that she had scarcely time to

think of her lover. It hurt her to imagine him waiting in the wood for

her, on the chance of seeing her, and to know that she could not send a

message to him, could not let him know. But she told herself that, no

doubt, by this time, he had heard of the terrible tragedy and would

understand. She could not afford much thought for him; her hands were

too full; indeed, in addition to her other responsibilities, she had, in

a measure, taken Mrs. Dexter's place in the household, and had to give

directions to the still scared servants.

She sent down to the village for the sleeping draught which Doctor Scott

prescribed for Miriam, and as soon as she could, went upstairs again. In

the corridor, she met Lord Heyton, and he looked so ill, so careworn,

that, for a moment, her dislike of him was outbalanced by pity. He

nodded to her, and she was about to pass on; then she paused and said: "Have you had anything to eat, my lord? Everyone is so busy and so

confused, there will be no regular meals, I am afraid."

"Oh, that's all right," he said, glancing at her furtively, and then

lowering his eyes. "I'm not much in the humour for meals, as you may

guess. Has my father come to, yet? Look here, that officious fool of a

nurse has shut me out of the room. I wish you'd--yes, look here, just

let me know when he comes to. I shall be hanging about. I say," he

added, with another furtive glance at her pale face, "you're looking

pretty upset yourself. I suppose they've shoved everything on to

you.--And there's Miriam! What's become of her?"




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