Without waiting for any one's consent, he accordingly began to mount the staircase, and had just reached the balustrade of the little sort of square vestibule at top, when the door of an opposite room opened, and the Lady Helen stood before him. To Wilton, who knew nothing of all the secrets of Plessis's house, which the reader is already informed of, the sight was like that of an apparition; and to the Lady Helen herself, the sight of Wilton bearing Caroline in his arms, while the light of the lamp that Plessis carried before them shone upon the pale but still beautiful countenance of the poor girl, and showed her dress and that of Wilton both thickly stained and spotted with blood, was not less astounding. "Oh, Wilton, Wilton," she cried--"what is this?--Caroline, my sweet Caroline, for Heaven's sake speak!--for Heaven's sake look at me!" The next moment, however, her eyes fell upon Lord Sherbrooke; his countenance also as pale as death, his coat, and collar, and face also bloody. "Oh young man, young man," she cried, "is it you that have done this?" "Yes, Lady Helen," he answered, rather bitterly--"yes, after nearly killing her in another way, it is I who have shed her blood. But the first was the criminal act, not the last. The shot was unintentional: the wounds given by my words were the guilty ones." "No, no, Sherbrooke!" said Caroline, raising her head faintly, and again stretching out her hand towards him--"No, no, dear Henry. You love me; that is enough!" She could speak no more; and Plessis, whose senses were in a state of greater precision than those of any other person, exclaimed, eagerly, "Don't stand here talking about it, but carry the lady to her bedchamber.--This way, young gentleman; this way, this way!" And passing by, he led onward to the room in which the unfortunate lady had received her husband's note that very morning. Wilton laid her gently on the bed; and closing her eyes for a moment, she gave a slight shudder, either with chilliness or pain. But a movement in the apartment caused her to look round again, and she said, eagerly, "Do not leave me, Sherbrooke! Do not leave me, my husband. You must stay with me NOW." "Leave you, my Caroline!" he said, "oh no! I will never leave you more! I must atone for what I have done. Only promise me, promise me, Caroline, to live, to forgive, and to bless me." "I do forgive you, I do bless you, Sherbrooke," she answered. Before he could reply, a gentleman habited in a riding dress, and a large red roquelaure, entered the room hastily, threw off his hat and cloak, and advanced at once with a somewhat rough air to the bedside.