'No; it was just before dinner. I had been shooting, and went into the
library to tell him where I had been. He was well then, for he spoke,
but it was getting dark, and I did not see his face. I don't think I
was ten minutes dressing, but when I came down, he had sunk back in his
chair. I saw it was not sleep--I rang--and when Arnaud came, we knew
how it was.' His, voice became low with strong emotion.'

'Did he recover his consciousness?'

'Yes, that was _the_ comfort,' said Guy, eagerly. 'It was after he had
been bled that he seemed to wake up. He could not speak or move, but
he looked at me--or--I don't know what I should have done.' The last
words were almost inaudible from the gush of tears that he vainly
struggled to repress, and he was turning away to hide them, when he saw
that Mrs. Edmonstone's were flowing fast.

'You had great reason to be attached to him!' said she, as soon as she
could speak.

'Indeed, indeed I had.' And after a long silence-- 'He was everything
to me, everything from the first hour I can recollect. He never let me
miss my parents. How he attended to all my pleasures and wishes, how
he watched and cared for me, and bore with me, even I can never know.'

He spoke in short half sentences of intense feeling, and Mrs.
Edmonstone was much moved by such affection in one said to have been
treated with an excess of strictness, much compassionating the lonely
boy, who had lost every family tie in one.