“As you will, monsieur,” replied Tracy carelessly, and walked away to his coach, his men following close on his heels.
My lord stood leaning heavily on his sword, watching them go, and not until the coach had swung out of sight did he give way to the weakness that was overwhelming him. Then he reeled and would have fallen, had it not been for two cool hands that caught his, steadying him.
A tremulous, husky voice sounded in his ears:
“You are hurt! Ah, sir, you are hurt for my sake!”
With a great effort Jack controlled the inclination to swoon, and lifted the girl’s hand shakily to his lips.
“It is a—pleasure—mademoiselle,” he managed to gasp. “Now—you may—I think—proceed—in safety.”
Diana slipped an arm under his shoulder and cast an anxious glance at the footman, hurrying towards them.
“Quick!” she commanded. “Sir, you are faint! You must allow my servant to assist you to the coach.”
Jack forced a smile.
“It is—nothing—I assure you—pray do not—I—” and he fainted comfortably away into stout Thomas’s arms.
“Carry him into the coach, Thomas!” ordered the girl. “Mind his arm, and—oh! his poor shoulder. Aunt, have you something to bind his wounds with?”
Miss Betty hurried forward.
“My darling child, what an escape! The dear, brave gentleman! Do have a care, Thomas! Yes, lay him on the seat.”
My lord was lowered gently on to the cushions, and Miss Betty fluttered over to him like a distracted hen. Then Diana told Thomas to take charge of my lord’s horse that they could see, quietly nibbling the grass further down the road, stooped and picked up his Grace of Andover’s sword, with its curiously wrought hilt, and jumped into the coach to help Miss Betty to attend to Jack’s wounds.
The slash on the arm was not serious, but where the pistol had taken him was very ugly-looking. While she saw to that, Miss Betty loosened the cravat and removed my lord’s mask.
“Di, see what a handsome boy ’tis! The poor, brave gentleman! What a lucky thing he came up! If only this bleeding would stop!” So she ran on, hunting wildly for her salts.
Diana looked up as her aunt finished, and studied the pale face lying against the dark cushions. She noted the firm, beautifully curved mouth, the aristocratic nose and delicately pencilled eyebrows, with a little thrill. The duel had set her every nerve tingling; she was filled with admiration for her preserver, and the sight of his sensitive, handsome countenance did nothing to dispel that admiration.
She held the salts to his nostrils and watched eagerly for some sign of life. But none was forthcoming, and she had to be content with placing cushions beneath his injured shoulder, and guarding him as best she might from the jolts caused by the uneven surface of the road.
Miss Betty bustled about and did all she could to stanch the bleeding, and when they had comfortably settled my lord, she sat down upon the seat opposite and nodded decisively.
“We can do no more, my dear—but, yes—certainly bathe his forehead with your lavender water. Dear me, what an escape! I must say I would never have thought it of Mr. Everard! One would say we were living in the Stone Age! The wretch!”
Diana shuddered.
“I knew he was dreadful, but never how dreadful! How can he have found out when we were to leave Bath—and why did he waylay us so near home? Oh, I shall never be safe again!”
“Nonsense, my dear! Fiddlesticks! You saw how easily he was vanquished. Depend upon it, he will realise that he has made a bad mistake to try to abduct you, and we shall not be worried with him again.”
With this comfortable assurance, she nodded again and leant back against the cushions, watching her niece’s ministrations with a professional and slightly amused air.
XII
My Lord Dictates a Letter and Receives a Visitor
My lord came sighing back to life. He opened his eyes wearily, and turned his head. A faint feeling of surprise stole over him. He was in a room he had never been in before, and by the window, busy with some needlework, sat a little old lady who was somehow vaguely familiar.
“Who—are—you?” he asked, and was annoyed to find his voice so weak.
The little lady jumped, and came across to him.
“Praise be to God!” she ejaculated. “Likewise, bless the boy! The fever is passed.” She laid a thin hand on his brow, and smiled down into his wondering eyes.
“As cool as a cucumber, dear boy. What a mercy!”
It was a long time since anyone had called Jack dear, or boy. He returned the smile feebly and closed his eyes.
“I—do not—understand—anything,” he murmured drowsily.
“Never trouble your head then. Just go to sleep.”
He considered this gravely for a moment. It seemed sensible enough, and he was so very, very tired. He shut his eyes with a little sigh.
When he awoke again it was morning of the next day, and the sun streamed in the window, making him blink.
Someone rustled forward, and he saw it was the lady who had called him dear and bidden him go to sleep.
He smiled, and a very thin hand came out of the bedclothes.
“But who are you?” he demanded a little querulously.
Miss Betty patted his hand gently.
“Still worrying your poor head over that? I am Di’s Aunt Betty—though, to be sure, you don’t know who Di is!”
Remembrance was coming back to my lord.
“Why—why—you are the lady in the coach!—Tracy—I remember!”
“Well, I know nought of Tracy, but I’m the lady in the coach.”
“And the other—”
“That was Diana Beauleigh, my niece—the pet. You will see her when you are better.”
“But—but—where am I, madam?”
“Now don’t get excited, dear boy!”
“I’m thirty!” protested Jack with a wicked twinkle.
“I should not have thought it, but thirty’s a boy to me, in any case!” retorted Miss Betty, making him laugh. “You are in Mr. Beauleigh’s house—Di’s father, and my brother. And here you will
