The host shook his head; he was incapable of speech, or even thought. The three men stood looking at each other without a word. Then Inglesant knelt down by the body, and raised the head; there was no doubt that life was extinct—indeed, the body must have been nearly drained of blood; the fine line of steel had done its work fully, and with no loss of time. Inglesant rose from the ground; his sight, his recollection, his senses were speedily failing him; nothing kept him conscious but the terrible shock acting with galvanic effect upon his frame. The back of the premises was searched, and mounted messengers were sent to the neighbouring towns and to the cross roads, and notice sent to the nearest Justice of the Peace. The country rose in great numbers, and came pouring in to Mintern before the early evening set in. The body was deposited on the long table in the parlour where the deed was committed; and more than one Justice examined the room that afternoon. Inglesant saw that the guard was set, and proper care taken; and then he mounted to ride to Oulton. He was not fit to ride; but to stay in the house all night was impossible—to lie down equally so. In the night air he rode to Oulton, through the long wild chase, by the pools of water—from which the flocks of birds rose startled as he passed, and by the herds of deer. The ride settled his nerves, and when he reached the house he was still master of himself. The news had preceded him; Lady Cardiff was said to be in a paroxysm of grief; but, as no one had seen her for days except her immediate servants, Inglesant did not attempt to obtain an interview with her. He was received by Dr. More and the superior servants, and sat down to supper. Not a word was spoken during that sombre meal except by the doctor, who pressed Inglesant to eat and drink, and offered to introduce him to Van Helmont, who was not present. The doctor said grace after supper; but when he had done, one of the female servants, a Quakeress, stood up, and spoke some words recommending patience and a feeling after God, if perchance He might be found to be present, and a help in such a terrible need. The singularity of this proceeding roused Inglesant from the lethargy in which he was, and the words seemed to strike upon his heart with a familiar and not uncongenial sense. The mystical doctrine which he had studied was not unlike much that he would hear from Quaker lips. He went to his room after supper, intending to rise early next morning; but before daybreak he was delirious and in a high fever, and Van Helmont was sent for to his room, and bled him freely, and administered cordials and narcotic draughts. The skilful treatment caused him to sleep quietly for many hours; and when he awoke, though prostrate with weakness, he was free from fever, and his brain was calm and clear.