"Thank God Dolores is safe!" he said, in a weak voice. "Can you help me
to get to a chair, my dear child? I must have been badly stunned. I
wonder how long I have been here. I remember--"

He paused and passed one hand over his eyes. The first instinct of
strong persons who have been unconscious is to think aloud, and to try
and recall every detail of the accident that left them unconscious.

"I remember--the King was here--we talked and we quarrelled--oh!"

The short exclamation ended his speech, as complete recollection
returned, and he knew that the secret must be kept, for his brother's
sake. He laid one head on the slight girl's shoulder to steady himself,
and with his other he helped himself to kneel on one knee.

"I am very dizzy," he said. "Try and help me to a chair, Inez."

She rose swiftly, holding his hand, and then putting one arm round him
under his own. He struggled to his feet and leaned his weight upon her,
and breathed hard. The effort hurt him where the flesh was torn.

"I am wounded, too," he said quietly, as he glanced at the blood on his
vest. "But it is nothing serious, I think."

With the instinct of the soldier hurt in the chest, he brushed his lips
with the small lace ruffle of his sleeve, and looked at it, expecting to
see the bright red stains that might mean death. There was nothing.

"It is only a scratch," he said, with an accent of indifference. "Help
me to the chair, my dear."