The
window was thrown open, and a figure appeared, clad in a white satin
night-gown that glistened in the moonlight, with a deep collar of ermine,
from which the handsomest face in London looked across the garden, to the
spot where Fareham, the seconds, and the surgeon were grouped about De
Malfort.
It was Lady Castlemaine. She leant out of the window and called to them.
"What has happened? Is any one hurt? I'll wager a thousand pounds you
devils have been fighting."
"De Malfort is stabbed!" Masaroon answered.
"Not dead?" she shrieked, leaning farther out of the window.
"No; but it looks dangerous."
"Bring him into my house this instant! I'll send my fellows to help. Have
you sent for a surgeon?"
"The surgeon is here."
The radiant figure vanished like a vision in the skies; and in three
minutes a door was heard opening, and a voice calling, "John, William,
Hugh, Peter, every manjack of you. Lazy devils! There's been no time for
you to fall asleep since the company left. Stir yourselves, vermin, and out
with you!"
"We had best levant, Fareham," muttered Dangerfield, and drew away his
principal, who went with him, silent and unresisting, having no more to do
there; not to fly the country, however, but to walk quietly home to Fareham
House, and to let himself in at the garden door, known to the household as
his lordship's.
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