running up to the house shouting:

"Young Mr. Brownlow is killed. Help! help!"

"I think, Monsieur Dessin," Colonel Holliday said, stopping, "it
would be as well if you and mademoiselle were for the present to
leave us. There will be trouble enough, and the fewer in it the
better. Sir William is a hot man, and you are not a cool one.
Enough mischief has been done."

"You are right," Monsieur Dessin said. "Will you tell Monsieur
Rupert that so long as my arm can lift a sword it is at his
service, and that I am his debtor for life.

"Come, Adele, let us leave by the front of the house."

Colonel Holliday now hurried out into the garden, just as Sir
William Brownlow, accompanied by his son's friend, rushed out of
the house, followed by some lackeys with scared faces.

Not a word was spoken as they ran to the spot where young Brownlow
was lying.

Sir William and Colonel Holliday both knelt beside him, and the
latter put his finger to his pulse.

"He is not dead," he said, after a moment. "Ralph, saddle a horse,
and ride with all speed to Derby for a doctor."

"Ay," Sir William said, "and tell the chief magistrate that he is