“A doctor is with her ladyship, and the viscount is dead--shot hisself, sir, and laughed while he did it. Bulger’s locked up!” “Poor devil,” was the grim rejoinder. “So he has given us the slip!” They went into the house, and in a minute Annesley was bending over Elaine, one of her hands clasped in his. “You are not hurt?” he asked. “No; I shall be better soon. I cannot understand anything yet; my head throbs and burns so much. I knew that you would come to me, Harold!” The light of a great love was shining in her eyes; then she added: “Oh, forgive me; I had forgotten--all but your presence here!” “Do not try to think now,” he whispered, tenderly. “You must return home, and Nina will take care of you. To-morrow you may know all.” She sighed softly, content that the man she loved was near her! CHAPTER XXIX. PEACE AT LAST. At the urgent request of Annesley the doctor consented to accompany them back to the villa in Hyde Park and remain in the house all night. He feared that Lady Elaine might be severely shocked when the events of the past hour recurred vividly to her, and wished to feel sure that she would have proper attention at hand. She was tenderly lifted into a carriage by Annesley, and the doctor sat opposite them. “I will see you at an early hour to-morrow morning, Sir Harold,” Paul said at parting. “You may expect news at any time.” Elaine slept through the journey, and hardly a word passed between Annesley and the doctor, the young man’s heart was so full of his cruel grief. When the villa was reached her ladyship was led indoors in a half-dreamful state, and Sir Harold hastened to reassure the terrified Nina. “You are not dying, sir!” the girl cried. “Oh, what a wicked hoax!” Annesley said nothing. This was no time for explanations and investigations. He introduced the old doctor, promising to call early in the morning, and was driven back to his hotel. He looked into his wife’s empty room, and wept such tears that men only can weep. He did not undress or attempt to rest. Where was the use of it? The remainder of the night was spent in pacing the floor and thinking of the absent Theresa. With the advent of daylight a little hope came to him, and he indulged himself to the extent of a bath. This refreshed him a little, and the sounds of life in the house and the streets told him that there was something to be done. Only in activity could he find relief. He waited feverishly for the post, but there was only a letter from Colonel Greyson in answer to a telegram. The colonel was coming home at once. Then Paul Asbury came in. He had no news yet. It was a little too early. Even while he was speaking a telegram was handed to Sir Harold, and he opened it with trembling fingers. It was from Margaret Nugent, and ran: “I have found Theresa. Come to the little cottage at Tenterden.” He passed it to Asbury, and the detective read it thoughtfully.