"Would to God it had been!" said Drake. The village nurse, whom the

doctor had instructed to follow him, entered and moved with professional

calm to the bedside, and the doctor gave her some instructions.

"I'll send you some help, nurse," he said.

As he spoke, Nell came to the door.

"No," she said, very quietly; "there is no need; I will help."

Almost as if he had heard her, Falconer's lips quivered, and he murmured

something. Nell glided to the bed, and kneeling beside him, took his

hand. His eyes opened, with the vacant stare of unconsciousness for a

moment, then they recognized her, and he spoke her name.

"Nell!"

"Yes," she whispered, in response. "It is I. You are here at the lodge.

Here is Dick, and"--her voice fell before Drake's steady regard--"you

are with friends, and safe."

He smiled, but his eyes did not leave her face.

"I know," he said. "I--I am more than content."

Drake could bear it no longer. Dick followed him out of the room, and

they went downstairs.

"I will wire for Sir William, the surgeon," said Drake, very quietly.

"He will come down by the first train. Everything shall be done.

Tell--tell your sister----"

Dick nodded gravely.

"He's one of the best fellows in the world; he's worth saving, Drake----"

he said. "I beg your pardon," he broke off. "I--I suppose I ought to call

you 'my lord' now. I can scarcely realize yet----"

Drake flushed almost angrily.

"For Heaven's sake, no!" he exclaimed. "There need be no difference

between you and me, Dick, whatever there may be between----I'll come

across in the morning to inquire, and I'll tell you all that has

happened. Dick, you'll have to forgive me for hiding my right name down

there at Shorne Mills. It was a folly; but one gets punished for one's

follies," he added, as he held out his hand.

Still confused by the discovery that his old friend "Drake Vernon" was

Lord Angleford, Dick could only let him go in silence, and Drake passed

out.

As he did so, he looked up at the window of the sick room. A shadow

passed the blind, and as he recognized it he sighed heavily. Yes;

notwithstanding his wound and his peril, the penniless musician was the

lucky man, and he, my Lord of Angleford, the most unfortunate and

unhappy.

Slowly he made his way toward the house, and as he went the face and the

voice of the woman he loved haunted him. For a moment she had rested in

his arms, and he could still feel her head on his breast, still hear the

"Drake, Drake!"




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