No one liked to tell him that, while he lay unconscious, the mad prince had claimed Fair as his wife. Indeed, no one credited the statement. All believed it the disjointed raving of a lunatic--at least, all but Beatrix Consani. She remembered the story Prince Gonzaga had told her yesterday, and she repeated it to all who would listen. Most of the guests had gone away, leaving the bridal banquet untasted. A few yet lingered in the grand drawing-room, waiting to hear whether Bayard Lorraine would live or die, and these the beautiful Beatrix entertained with her story. “I believe that he was telling me his own story, with just enough changes in it to mislead me,” she said. “I thought he seemed very much excited, and that his interest in the girl was very great. There is some mystery about it. She cannot really be Mrs. Howard’s daughter, for he declared that she was poor and of obscure birth.” Then Augustus Frayne came among them, declaring that the physicians were uncertain whether their patient would live or die, and desiring his sisters to ask Mrs. Howard to go at once to the wounded man, as he particularly wished to see her and Fair. Fair had come out of her swoon, and lay sobbing in her adopted mother’s arms. No one had asked her any questions yet--waiting until they should hear from the wounded man. Nettie Frayne came in with a solemn face, and delivered the message. “He wishes to see you both,” she said, and Fair shuddered and moaned. They had removed the bloodstained wedding dress and veil, and she wore a long, trailing tea gown of white India silk and lace. Her face was as white as the dress as she lifted it to Mrs. Howard’s, and said pitifully: “Oh, he is dying, I know! Let us go to him at once.” But it was not the face of a dying man that looked up to her from the pillow, although ghastly pale and pain-drawn. The eyes were bright with love as they looked up into her own. They had all withdrawn from the room, leaving only her and her adopted mother. She knelt down by the bed and looked at him with wide brown eyes full of grief and despair. “My darling!” he murmured, as he met that anguished glance, adding tenderly: “Do not look so frightened. I do not believe that I am going to die. The doctors seemed to have hope, but”--and his eyes turned from her to Mrs. Howard--“I want the marriage to go on at once. It is not best to run any risks.” Mrs. Howard understood him at once. He was thinking of her darling’s future. “Bless you, Bayard!” she said tenderly, as she laid her hand on his white brow, and she added: “You are right. The marriage should certainly take place at once--that is, if you can bear the excitement.” He smiled a faint yet reassuring smile, and asked: “The minister?” “He is here yet. He can be summoned in a minute.” Then she cried out in alarm: “Fair!” The girl’s face had sunk down among the bedclothes, but at that cry she lifted it wearily, and Mrs. Howard went on: