"Keeping watch to see the sun rise, John?" asked the doctor jestingly. "I am keeping watch for my lodger," replied the landlord in a grumbling tone, for he was feeling the want of his bed and, resented the being kept out of it. "Mr. North went off this afternoon to a distance with his sketch-book and things, ordering some supper to be ready at nine o'clock, as he should miss his dinner, and he has never come back again. It is to be hoped he will come; that we are not to have a second edition of the disappearance of young Anthony Castlemaine." "Pooh!" quoth the doctor. "Mr. North has only lost his way." "I hope it may prove so!" replied the landlord grimly: for his fears were at work, though at present they took no definite shape. "What sickness is calling you abroad at this hour, doctor?" "Young Walter Dance has shot himself," interposed Sister Ann, who had been bursting with the strange news, and felt supremely elated at having somebody to tell it to. "Walter Dance shot himself!" echoed the landlord, following them, upon impulse, to hear more. "How?--where? How did he do it?" "Goodness knows!" returned Sister Ann. "He must have done it somewhere--and come to the Nunnery somehow. Sister Mary Ursula was still sitting up, we conclude--which was fortunate, as no time was lost. When we went to bed after prayers, she remained in the parlour to write letters." In the astonishment created by the tidings, John Bent went with them to the Nunnery, leaving his own open door uncared for--but at that dead hour of the morning there was little fear of strangers finding it so. That was the explanation of his appearance. And there they were, the doctor and Sister Ann, busy with the wounded man, and John Bent satisfying his curiosity by listening to the few unconnected words of enlightenment that Walter chose to give as to the cause of the accident, and by fingering the pistol, which lay on the table. "Will the injuries prove fatal?" asked Miss Castlemaine of the surgeon, when the latter at length came forth. "Dear me, no!" was the reply, as he entered the parlour, at the door of which she stood. "Don't distress yourself by thinking of such a thing, my dear young lady. Blood makes a great show, you know; and no doubt the pain in the side is acute. There's no real cause for fear; not much damage, in fact: and he feels all reassured, now I have put him to rights." "The ball was not in him?" "Nothing of the kind. The side was torn a little and burnt, and of course was, for one who feels pain as he does, intolerably painful. When I tell you that the longest job will be the broken arm, and that it is the worse of the two, you may judge for yourself how slight it all is. Slight, of course, in comparison with what might have been, and with graver injuries." "Did the ball go through the arm?" "Only through the flesh. The bone no doubt snapped in falling: the arm must have got awkwardly doubled wader him somehow. We shall soon have him well again."