“I deny it,” she said, “the gun went off——­”

“Yes,” he said, “you are wise to make no admissions; they might be used in evidence against you.  Let me counsel you to make no admissions.  But now look here.  I suppose the man will have to lie in this house until he recovers or dies, and that you will help to nurse him.  Well, I will have none of your murderous work going on here.  Do you hear me?  You are not to complete at leisure what you have begun in haste.”

“What do you take me for?” she asked, with some return of spirit; “do you think that I would injure a wounded man?”

“I do not know,” he answered, with a shrug, “and as for what I take you for, I take you for a woman whose passion has made her mad,” and he turned and left the room.

When they had carried Edward Cossey, dead or alive—­and he looked more like death than life—­up to the room prepared for him, seeing that he could be of no further use the Colonel left the house with a view of going to the Castle.

On his way out he looked into the drawing-room and there was Mrs. Quest, still sitting on the chair and gazing blankly before her.  Pitying her he entered.  “Come, cheer up, Mrs. Quest,” he said kindly, “they hope that he will live.”

She made no answer.

“It is an awful accident, but I am almost as culpable as you, for I left the cartridges in the gun.  Anyhow, God’s will be done.”

“God’s will!” she said, looking up, and then once more relapsed into silence.

He turned to go, when suddenly she rose and caught him by the arm.

“Will he die?” she said almost fiercely.  “Tell me what you think—­not what the doctors say; you have seen many wounded men and know better than they do.  Tell me the truth.”

“I cannot say,” he answered, shaking his head.

Apparently she interpreted his answer in the affirmative.  At any rate she covered her face with her hands.

“What would you do, Colonel Quaritch, if you had killed the only thing you loved in the whole world?” she asked dreamily.  “Oh, what am I saying?—­I am off my head.  Leave me—­go and tell Ida; it will be good news for Ida.”

Accordingly he started for the Castle, having first picked up his gun on the spot where it had fallen from the hands of Mrs. Quest.

And then it was that for the first time the extraordinary importance of this dreadful accident in its bearing upon his own affairs flashed upon his mind.  If Cossey died he could not marry Ida, that was clear.  This was what Mrs. Quest must have meant when she said that it would be good news for Ida.  But how did she know anything about Ida’s engagement to Edward Cossey?  And, by Jove! what did the woman mean when she asked what he would do if he had killed the only thing he loved in the world?  Cossey must be the “only thing she loved,” and now he thought of it, when she believed that he was dead she called him “Edward, Edward.”