Even in the hurry of the moment and the anxiety he felt on his friend’s account, for Hilary was very pale and evidently in pain, Lord Carthew could hardly refrain from a look of surprise at the girl’s statement. She was so utterly unlike his ideal of what “the product of a union between a Douglas and a Cranstoun” would be. No “long, limp, watery-eyed fairness” was here, but a small face, eloquent in its every line, a sensitive white skin, mobile red lips whose expression changed constantly, and eyes more wonderful even by this imperfect light than any he had ever seen, eyes strangely luminous, dilated pupils, and a border to the iris of so dark a blue that it seemed almost black. He could not have said at that moment whether she was adorably beautiful or only supremely interesting. She had captured and chained his imagination, and her every movement seemed to him the perfection of grace. Without any assistance she sprang off her horse, and taking his bridle, approached Hilary timidly. “If you feel faint,” she said, “will you not mount my horse, and let me lead him to the house? Indeed, I don’t think you can walk. And may I try to bind your shoulder?” Her voice was very sweet, and her gentle, even humble manner of speaking delighted Claud. He was astonished to hear his friend answer so coldly: “I require no assistance, thank you, Miss Cranstoun. I am only sorry I spoiled your ride. Claud, we must get back to the inn as soon as possible.” With that he raised his hat with his left hand, and turning his back on the lady, began to make his way through the trees in the direction whence they had come. “Go after him! Go after him!” the girl whispered to Lord Carthew, clasping her small hands impulsively, while tears sprang to her eyes. “He is not fit to be alone. I can see he is badly hurt.” Her words were only too true. A few seconds later Claud, hurrying after his friend, found him leaning against a tree, with set, white face, and half-closed eyes. “I’m all right,” Hilary muttered in response to Carthew’s anxious inquiry. “Let’s--get--on.” His voice sounded faint and muffled. Under the trees, in the waning light, it was impossible to see his face, but Claud realized that he was in great pain. Here was a predicament indeed! Hilary weighed nearly fourteen stone. A space of tangled underwood, a bank, a wall, a steep declivity, another wood, and a walk of half a mile, separated the young men from the nearest inn. Even could they contrive to reach it, one wounded and half-insensible man and his slenderly-built companion, the accommodation would be of the poorest, and they were several miles from the nearest town, that of Grayling. Miss Cranstoun had offered the hospitality of her home, but Hilary had refused it, and Claud knew him to be extremely obstinate. Clearly he could not remain where he was, trespassing in the grounds of the Chase, with the night fast approaching, and Lord Carthew tried to rouse him.