But heroes don’t die, you know. CHAPTER XXI. TRIBULATIONS AND TACTICS OF THE COUNTESS “You have murdered my brother, Rose Jocelyn!” “Don’t say so now.” Such was the interchange between the two that loved the senseless youth, as he was being lifted into the carriage. Lady Jocelyn sat upright in her saddle, giving directions about what was to be done with Evan and the mare, impartially. “Stunned, and a good deal shaken, I suppose; Lymport’s knees are terribly cut,” she said to Drummond, who merely nodded. And Seymour remarked, “Fifty guineas knocked off her value!” One added, “Nothing worse, I should think”; and another, “A little damage inside, perhaps.” Difficult to say whether they spoke of Evan or the brute. No violent outcries; no reproaches cast on the cold-blooded coquette; no exclamations on the heroism of her brother! They could absolutely spare a thought for the animal! And Evan had risked his life for this, and might die unpitied. The Countess diversified her grief with a deadly bitterness against the heartless Jocelyns. Oh, if Evan dies! will it punish Rose sufficiently? Andrew expressed emotion, but not of a kind the Countess liked a relative to be seen exhibiting; for in emotion worthy Andrew betrayed to her his origin offensively. “Go away and puke, if you must,” she said, clipping poor Andrew’s word about his “dear boy.” She could not help speaking in that way—he was so vulgar. A word of sympathy from Lady Jocelyn might have saved her from the sourness into which her many conflicting passions were resolving; and might also have saved her ladyship from the rancour she had sown in the daughter of the great Mel by her selection of epithets to characterize him. Will it punish Rose at all, if Evan dies? Rose saw that she was looked at. How could the Countess tell that Rose envied her the joy of holding Evan in the carriage there? Rose, to judge by her face, was as calm as glass. Not so well seen through, however. Mrs. Evremonde rode beside her, whose fingers she caught, and twined her own with them tightly once for a fleeting instant. Mrs. Evremonde wanted no further confession of her state. Then Rose said to her mother, “Mama, may I ride to have the doctor ready?” Ordinarily, Rose would have clapped heel to horse the moment the thought came. She waited for the permission, and flew off at a gallop, waving back Laxley, who was for joining her. “Franks will be a little rusty about the mare,” the Countess heard Lady Jocelyn say; and Harry just then stooped his head to the carriage, and said, in his blunt fashion, “After all, it won’t show much.”