“He will answer for himself. EDWARD!” At her call Severne came out hastily behind Ina Klosking. She turned, and they faced each other. “Ah!” she cried; and in spite of all, there was more of joy than any other passion in the exclamation. Not so he. He uttered a scream of dismay, and staggered, white as a ghost, but still glared at Ina Klosking. Zoe's voice fell on him like a clap of thunder: “What!--Edward!--Mr. Severne!--Has this lady still any right--” “No, none whatever!” he cried; “it is all past and gone.” “What is past?” said Ina Klosking, grandly. “Are you out of your senses?” Then she was close to him in a moment, by one grand movement, and took him by both lapels of his coat, and held him firmly. “Speak before this lady,” she cried. “Have--I--no--rights--over you?” and her voice was majestic, and her Danish eyes gleamed lightning. The wretch's knees gave way a moment and he shook in her hands. Then, suddenly, he turned wild. “Fiend! you have ruined me!” he yelled; and then, with his natural strength, which was great, and the superhuman power of mad excitement, he whirled her right round and flung her from him, and dashed out of the door, uttering cries of rage and despair. The unfortunate lady, thus taken by surprise, fell heavily, and, by cruel ill luck, struck her temple, in falling, against the sharp corner of a marble table. It gashed her forehead fearfully, and she lay senseless, with the blood spurting in jets from her white temple. Zoe screamed violently, and the hall and the hall staircase seemed to fill by magic. In the terror and confusion, Harrington Vizard strode into the hall, from Taddington. “What is the matter?” he cried. “A woman killed?” Some one cried out she had fallen. “Water, fools--a sponge--don't stand gaping!” and he flung himself on his knees, and raised the woman's head from the floor. One eager look into her white face--one wild cry--“Great God! it is--” He had recognized her. CHAPTER XX. IT was piteous to see and hear. The blood would not stop; it spurted no longer, but it flowed alarmingly. Vizard sent Harris off in his own fly for a doctor, to save time. He called for ice. He cried out in agony to his servants, “Can none of you think of anything? There--that hat. Here, you women; tear me the nap off with your fingers. My God! what is to be done? She'll bleed to death!” And he held her to his breast, and almost moaned with pity over her, as he pressed the cold sponge to her wound--in vain; for still the red blood would flow. Wheels ground the gravel. Servants flew to the door, crying, “The doctor! the doctor!” As if he could have been fetched in five minutes from three miles off. Yet it was a doctor. Harris had met Miss Gale walking quietly down from Hillstoke. He had told her in a few hurried words, and brought her as fast as the horses could go. She glided in swiftly, keen, but self-possessed, and took it all in directly.