Instead of answering, Celia knelt down by her, and uttered one word--a word she had never used to her before. "Mother!" Lady Ingram dropped her work, and looked into Celia's face. "My dear," she said, her voice slightly trembling, "you have bad news to tell me. At once, if you please--I do not like things broken gradually." At once Celia told her: "Philip is killed." With a wild shriek which rang through the house, Philip's mother flung up her arms--as Celia remembered that, once before in her life, Claude De L'Orient had done--and then fell back heavily and silently in her chair. Celia, ignorant and terrified, threw open the door and called for Patient and Thérèse. They came in together, the former quiet and practical, the latter screaming and wringing her hands. "Eh, my faith! Madam is dead!" shrieked Thérèse. "'Tis but a dwawm, Madam," was the decision of Patient. "Please to open the window. Thérèsa, cut her Ladyship's lace[18] whilst I fetch her water." "But, my dear friend," remonstrated Thérèse, with an invocation in addition, "that will spoil her figure!" "Go down-stairs and fetch a glass of water," said Patient, with a spice of scorn. "That's all _you_ are fit for. Madam, will you please to hold her Ladyship's head while I get at her lace and cut it?" Patient's remedies applied, Lady Ingram partly recovered herself in a few minutes. Edward was by her side when she again opened her eyes. They rested for an instant on him and on Celia, and closed again with a long tremulous sigh which seemed to come from her heart. "If you will please to give me orders, Madam," said Patient, quietly, to Celia, "I think her Ladyship will be best in her bed, and she scarce seems knowledgeable to give orders herself. Will I and Thérèsa lay her there?" Celia spoke to Lady Ingram, but received no answer, and she gave Patient the order. So Patient and Thérèse undressed the still figure and laid her to rest. Lady Ingram continued to sleep or swoon, whichever it were; she seemed occasionally sensible to pain, but not to sound, nor did she appear to know who was about her. About ten o'clock, Celia, seated at her step-mother's bed-side, heard a regular tramp of soldiers' feet below, and knew too well what they must be bringing. A few minutes afterwards her brother softly entered the room. "Celia, they have brought Philip here. Will you come and see him?" She hesitated a minute, half for Lady Ingram, and half for herself. "There is nothing painful or shocking, dear; I would not ask you if there were. Would you like to see him again or not?" Celia rose and gave Edward her hand. He led her silently down to the dining-room, leaving her to go in the first by herself and kneel beside the still, white clay which only five hours earlier had been Philip Ingram.