The words brought the Duchess to her knees by my chair. She tore open my doublet, through which the blood was oozing fast. I made no doubt that I was a dead man, for I had never been wounded in this way before, and the blood scared me. I remember my prevailing idea was a kind of stunned pity for myself. Perhaps later--I hope so--I should have come to think of Petronilla and my uncle and other people. But before this stage was readied, the Duchess reassured me. "Courage, lad!" she cried heartily. "It is all right, Dick. The villain struck him on the breastbone an inch too low, and has just ripped up a scrap of skin. It has blooded him for the spring, that is all. A bit of plaster----" "And a drink of strong waters," suggested the Dutchman soberly--his thoughts were always to the point when they came. "Yes, that too," quoth my lady, "and he will be all right." I thought so myself when I had emptied the cup they offered me. I had been a good deal shaken by the events of the day. The sight of blood had further upset me. I really think it possible I might have died of this slight hurt and my imagination, if I had been left to myself. But the Duchess's assurance and the draught of schnapps, which seemed to send new blood through my veins, made me feel ashamed of myself. If the Duchess would have let me, I would at once have gone to search the premises; as it was, she made me sit still while she ran to and fro for hot water and plaster, and the men searched the lower rooms and secured the door afresh. "And so you could see nothing of him?" our host asked, when he and Master Bertie returned, weapons in hand. "Nothing of his figure or face?" "Nothing, save that he was short," I answered; "shorter than I am, at any rate, and I fancy a good deal." "A good deal shorter than you are?" my lady said uneasily; "that is no clew. In this country nine people out of ten are that. Clarence, now, is not." "No," I said; "he is about the same height. It was not Clarence." "Then who could it be?" she muttered, rising, and then with a quick shudder sitting down again. "Heaven help us, we seem to be in the midst of foes! What could be the motive? And why should the villain have selected you? Why pick you out?" Thereupon a strange thing happened. Three pairs of English eyes met, and signaled a common message eye to eye. No word passed, but the message was "Van Tree!" When we had glanced at one another we looked all of us at our host--looked somewhat guiltily. He was deep in thought, his eyes on the stove; but he seemed to feel our gaze upon him, and he looked up abruptly. "Master Van Tree----" he said, and stopped. "You know him well?" the Duchess said, appealing to him softly. We felt a kind of sorrow for him, and some delicacy, too, about accusing one of his countrymen of a thing so cowardly. "Do you think it is possible," she continued with an effort--"possible that he can have done this, Master Lindstrom?"