So she sat, thinking, dreaming, plotting, crushed by an agony of fear, looking anxiously at the door, listening for every footfall within the house; and she watched too for the well-known click of the area gate, dreading lest any one should go out to seek the intervention of the constables. In the meantime Daniel Thwaite had gone up-stairs, and had knocked at the drawing-room door. It was instantly opened by Lady Anna herself. "I heard you come;--what a time you have been here!--I thought that I should never see you." As she spoke she stood close to him that he might embrace her. But the pain of his wound affected his whole body, and he felt that he could hardly raise even his right arm. He was aware now that the bullet had entered his back, somewhere on his left shoulder. "Oh, Daniel;--are you ill?" she said, looking at him. "Yes, dear;--I am ill;--not very ill. Did you hear nothing?" "No!" "Nor yet see anything?" "No!" "I will tell you all another time;--only do not ask me now." She had seated herself beside him and wound her arm round his back as though to support him. "You must not touch me, dearest." "You have been hurt." "Yes;--I have been hurt. I am in pain, though I do not think that it signifies. I had better go to a surgeon, and then you shall hear from me." "Tell me, Daniel;--what is it, Daniel?" "I will tell you,--but not now. You shall know all, but I should do harm were I to say it now. Say not a word to any one, sweetheart,--unless your mother ask you." "What shall I tell her?" "That I am hurt,--but not seriously hurt;--and that the less said the sooner mended. Tell her also that I shall expect no further interruption to my letters when I write to you,--or to my visits when I can come. God bless you, dearest;--one kiss, and now I will go." "You will send for me if you are ill, Daniel?" "If I am really ill, I will send for you." So saying, he left her, went down-stairs, with great difficulty opened for himself the front door, and departed. Lady Anna, though she had been told nothing of what had happened, except that her lover was hurt, at once surmised something of what had been done. Daniel Thwaite had suffered some hurt from her mother's wrath. She sat for a while thinking what it might have been. She had seen no sign of blood. Could it be that her mother had struck him in her anger with some chance weapon that had come to hand? That there had been violence she was sure,--and sure also that her mother had been in fault. When Daniel had been some few minutes gone she went down, that she might deliver his message. At the foot of the stairs, and near the door of the parlour, she met Mrs. Richards. "I suppose the young man has gone, my lady?" asked the woman. "Mr. Thwaite has gone."