A wry smile twisted his lips. “Your ladyship is very good,” said he. “I had not thought you quite so much my well-wisher. I--I have done you a wrong, madam.” He paused for breath, and it was not plain whether he spoke in sincerity or in sarcasm. Then with a startling suddenness he broke into a soft laugh and to those risen, who could not think what had occasioned it, it sounded more dreadful than any plaint he could have uttered. He had bethought him that there was no longer the need for him to come to a decision in the matter that had brought him to England, and his laugh was almost of relief. The riddle he could never have solved for himself in a manner that had not shattered his future peace of mind, was solved and well solved if this were death. “Where--where is Rotherby?” he inquired presently. There was a stir, and men drew back, leaving an open lane to the place where Rotherby stood. Mr. Caryll saw him, and smiled, and his smile held no tinge of mockery. “You are the best friend I ever had, Rotherby,” he startled all by saying. “Let him approach,” he begged. Rotherby came forward like one who walks in his sleep. “I am sorry,” he said thickly, “cursed sorry.” “There's scarce the need,” said Mr. Caryll. “Lift me up, Tom,” he begged Gascoigne. “There's scarce the need. You have cleared up something that was plaguing me, my lord. I am your debtor for--for that. It disposes of something I could never have disposed of had I lived.” He turned to the Duke of Wharton. “It was an accident,” he said significantly. “You all saw that it was an accident.” A denial rang out. “It was no accident!” cried Lord Ostermore, and swore an oath. “We all saw what it was.” “I'faith, then, your eyes deceived you. It was an accident, I say--and who should know better than I?” He was smiling in that whimsical enigmatic way of his. Smiling still he sank back into Gascoigne's arms. “You are talking too much,” said the Major. “What odds? I am not like to talk much longer.” The door opened to admit a gentleman in black, wearing a grizzle wig and carrying a gold-headed cane. Men moved aside to allow him to approach Mr. Caryll. The latter, not noticing him, had met at last the gaze of Hortensia's eyes. He continued to smile, but his smile was now changed to wistfulness under that pitiful regard of hers. “It is better so,” he was saying. “Better so!” His glance was upon her, and she understood what none other there suspected--that those words were for her alone. He closed his eyes and swooned again, as the doctor stooped to remove the temporary bandages from his wound. Hortensia, a sob beating in her throat, turned and fled to her own room. CHAPTER XII. SUNSHINE AND SHADOW Mr. Caryll was almost happy.