Madam Estvan accompanied them to the door with bland courtesy. St. Udo was already opening the door, when a rattle of shot against the roof of the piazza startled him, and a cannon-ball immediately followed and crashed in the side of the doorway. A fearful shriek burst from Madam Estvan; she rushed forward and clung to the little chevalier's arm. "_Mon Dieu!_ woman, let me go!" hissed he, with an ominous scowl. "No, no, Ladislaus, save me, your poor Alice, who ever loved you! Don't desert me again!" wailed the woman, frantically. Her voice rang out pure and flute-like in the English language; her terror tore aside the cunning mask, and plainly revealed to St. Udo the lovely vision he had seen before. "_Sacre!_ I suspected as much!" swore the chevalier, shaking her roughly off. "Away, traitress!" He sprang across the piazza, followed by St. Udo, and the wretched woman sank, a helpless heap, upon the floor. Looking back, each from his post, at the fairy palace, the two colonels saw a stream of fire running along the piazza roof, licking the airy balconies up, creeping serpent-like around the pillars, and so through smoking portico to the senseless woman lying on the hall floor where she had fallen. CHAPTER VI. ST. UDO BRAND'S FIANCEE. The last train from London brought a physician to Lynthorpe, dispatched by the Marquis of Ducie to attend his daughter, who brought a polite message from his lordship to Miss Blair, that an important engagement prevented his accompanying Dr. Trewin, but that he would be at Lynthorpe by the morning train. The physician examined his patient and pronounced her severely but not dangerously injured, and proceeded to make her as comfortable as circumstances would permit, after which she ate a little, and fell into a placid slumber--Margaret keeping faithful watch, while Dr. Trewin dozed in his chair. At ten o'clock next morning a carriage and four drew up before John Doane's humble house, and two gentlemen, a man servant, a busy-eyed young woman, a coachman and groom in magnificent liveries of gray and bronze, appeared upon the scene. These were the Marquis of Ducie, an extra physician in case Trewin should not understand his duty, a valet, my lady's maid, and the servants. His lordship asked where his daughter was stowed, and was forthwith ushered into the bed-closet where she lay, by Margaret Walsingham. "Haw! By Jove, this is very awkward _faux pas_! Might have been killed by these rascally railway managers! Confoundedly awkward mistake! Howdo, Julie?" "Oh! bad enough, papa!" responded the patient, receiving the careless paternal embrace as indifferently as it was given. "I might have died ten times over before you would come. Why didn't you come to me immediately, papa?"