When he had recovered a little, he found that several gentlemen were
gathered around him, and that one of them was holding a flask of whisky
to his lips.
"That was a narrow escape," said a cheery, musical voice. "How long have
you been on foot?"
"Since eight this morning," he replied.
"And now it is nearly eight at night! Well, you may thank Heaven for
preserving your life."
Lord Arleigh turned away with a sigh. How little could any one guess
what life meant for him--life spent without love--love--without
Madaline!
"I have known several lose their lives in this way," continued the same
voice. "Only last year poor Charley Hartigan was caught in a similar
storm, and he lay for four days dead before he was found. This gentleman
has been fortunate."
Lord Arleigh roused himself and looked around. He found himself the
center of observation. The room in which he was lying was large and well
furnished, and from the odor of tobacco it was plainly used as a
smoking-room.
Over him leaned a tall, handsome man, whose hair was slightly tinged
with gray.
"I think," he said, "you are my neighbor, Lord Arleigh? I have often
seen you on the moors.
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