Belle stood by holding a basin of water. She did not speak, and on her face was that same fixed look of horror which Harold had observed after the discharge of the gun. When the examination was finished the two doctors whispered together for a few seconds. “Will he live?” asked Mr. Quest. “We cannot say,” answered the older doctor. “We do not think it likely that he will. It depends upon the extent of his injuries, and whether or no they have extended to the spine. If he does live he will probably be paralysed to some extent, and must certainly lose the hearing of the right ear.” When she heard this Belle sank down upon a chair overwhelmed. Then the two doctors, assisted by Harold, set to work to carry Edward Cossey into another room which had been rapidly prepared, leaving Mr. Quest alone with his wife. He came, stood in front of her, looked her in the face, and then laughed. “Upon my word,” he said, “we men are bad enough, but you women beat us in wickedness.” “What do you mean?” she said faintly. “I mean that you are a murderess, Belle,” he said solemnly. “And you are a bungler, too. You could not hold the gun straight.” “I deny it,” she said, “the gun went off——” “Yes,” he said, “you are wise to make no admissions; they might be used in evidence against you. Let me counsel you to make no admissions. But now look here. I suppose the man will have to lie in this house until he recovers or dies, and that you will help to nurse him. Well, I will have none of your murderous work going on here. Do you hear me? You are not to complete at leisure what you have begun in haste.” “What do you take me for?” she asked, with some return of spirit; “do you think that I would injure a wounded man?” “I do not know,” he answered, with a shrug, “and as for what I take you for, I take you for a woman whose passion has made her mad,” and he turned and left the room. When they had carried Edward Cossey, dead or alive—and he looked more like death than life—up to the room prepared for him, seeing that he could be of no further use the Colonel left the house with a view of going to the Castle. On his way out he looked into the drawing-room and there was Mrs. Quest, still sitting on the chair and gazing blankly before her. Pitying her he entered. “Come, cheer up, Mrs. Quest,” he said kindly, “they hope that he will live.” She made no answer. “It is an awful accident, but I am almost as culpable as you, for I left the cartridges in the gun. Anyhow, God’s will be done.” “God’s will!” she said, looking up, and then once more relapsed into silence. He turned to go, when suddenly she rose and caught him by the arm. “Will he die?” she said almost fiercely. “Tell me what you think—not what the doctors say; you have seen many wounded men and know better than they do. Tell me the truth.” “I cannot say,” he answered, shaking his head. Apparently she interpreted his answer in the affirmative. At any rate she covered her face with her hands.