She moved to the other side of the chariot, making room for him.
"Thank you. I will sit outside."
"Oh, no." He closed the door, and took his seat by the coachman; the footman got up behind, and the carriage sped away. Isabel gathered herself into her corner, and moaned aloud in her suspense and helplessness.
The coachman drove rapidly, and soon whipped his horses through the lodge-gates.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Mason, waited at the hall-door to receive Lady Isabel. Mr. Carlyle helped her out of the carriage, and gave her his arm up the steps. She scarcely dared to inquire.
"Is he better? May I go to his room?" she panted.
Yes, the earl was better--better, in so far as that he was quiet and senseless. She moved hastily toward his chamber. Mr. Carlyle drew the housekeeper aside.
"Not the slightest, sir. He is dying."