She was beside him in a moment, trying with all her slight
strength to lift his head and turn his face.

"Help me--oh, help me!" she wailed. "He has fainted--we must lift
him--get some one to lift him on the bed. It is only a faint--he
will recover--get some brandy and send for the doctor. Don't lose
time!--for Heaven's sake be quick! Robin, make them hurry!"

Robin had already whispered his orders,--and two of the farm lads,
roused from sleep and hastily summoned, were ready to do what he
told them. With awed, hushed movements they lifted the heavy
fallen body of their master between them and laid it gently down
on the bed. As the helpless head dropped back on the pillow they
saw that all was over,--the pinched ashen grey of the features and
the fast glazing eyes told their own fatal story--there was no
hope. But Innocent held the cold hand of the dead man to her warm
young bosom, endeavouring to take from it its cureless chill.

"He will be better soon," she said,--"Priscilla, bring me that
brandy--just a little will revive him, I'm sure. Why do you stand
there crying? You surely don't think he's dead?--No, no, that
isn't possible! It isn't possible, is it, Robin? He'll come to
himself in a few minutes--a fainting fit may last quite a long
time. I wish he had not locked his door--we could have been with
him sooner."

So she spoke, tremblingly nursing the dead hand in her bosom. No
one present had the heart to contradict her--and Priscilla, with
the tears running down her face, brought the brandy she asked for
and held it while she tenderly moistened the lips of the corpse