"Badly? Yes," was the reply. "I'm afraid it is the last ride she will take--but one." "For heaven's sake, gentlemen, lend a hand here," cried Lord Carboro' impatiently; and they turned to where Barclay was now kneeling by Sir Harry Payne, that worthy having just struggled back from a fit of fainting. "Cursed cowardly blow," he said in a shrill voice. "Who was it-- Burnett? Why couldn't he call me out?" "Don't talk, man," cried Lord Carboro'. "Here, Mellersh, the fellow's bleeding like a pig." "Am I?" cried Sir Harry faintly. "Damn it. A surgeon. The post-chaise." "A knife," said Mellersh shortly, as he made as rapid an examination as he could in the darkness. A pocket-knife was handed to him by Barclay, and he ripped up the coat and threw it aside. "Is--is it dangerous?" faltered Sir Harry. "Dangerous enough for you to be more silent," said Mellersh. "Another handkerchief, please. That'll do. Yes. I'll use both. There, Sir Harry," he said, as he bound up the prostrate man's arm, "we are only a mile from the barracks. You must contrive to walk." "Sick as a dog," muttered Sir Harry; but he struggled to his feet with a little help. "Don't--don't let that little beast Burnett come near me. Mellersh, your arm." There was no need for his desire to be attended to, for Burnett had stood looking on for a few minutes, and then gone off, to be slowly followed by the others, the wounded man being compelled by faintness to halt from time to time till the barrack gate was reached. Half an hour later Lord Carboro' was in consultation with Barclay, Mellersh, and Linnell outside the Denvilles' house. "Gravani?" said Lord Carboro', "to be sure--Louis Gravani. I gave him some painting to do when he was here. Italian--and the knife--a former lover, of course?" "Mrs Barclay tells me, my lord," said Barclay, gravely, "that he was really Mrs Burnett's husband." "Dick," said Mellersh, as they were walking slowly back, "of what are you thinking?" "Of Claire." Mellersh said no more, but when they reached home sat musing over the fact that there was a light in Cora's window, and that she was looking out. But it was not for him. Volume Three, Chapter VIII. THE FRIEND IN NEED. There was quite a meeting at little Miss Clode's the next morning, after a heavy storm that had set in during the night; but, though the ordinary atmosphere was fresh, clear, cool and bright after the heavy rain, the social atmosphere grew more dense and lurid, hour by hour, as the callers rolled the news snow-ball on till Annie Clode's eyes looked as if they would never close again, and her mouth formed a veritable round O. Miss Clode herself was in a state of nervous prostration, but she forced herself to be in the shop and listen, gathering scraps of information which she sifted, casting aside the rubbish and retaining only what was good, so as to piece together afterwards, and lay before herself what was the whole truth.