"It appears he had a pocket-pistol with him, Sir Nicholas, and going home through the wood he stumbled over some roots, and it went off and injured him fatally. It is an internal wound, my lady. Dr. Bland, who is with him, says there is no hope.",
"No,"—slowly,—"I do not. If I did, I should not love you as—as I do.",
"I wonder," she says to herself, softly, "whether he will be with me at the usual hour to-morrow, or,—a little earlier!".
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