He looked at the limp figure on the turf, huddled against the knee of Major Gascoigne; looked at the white face, the closed eyes and the stain of blood oozing farther and farther across the Holland shirt, and, as white himself as the stricken man, he shuddered and his mouth was drawn wide with horror.
But pitiful though he looked, he inspired no pity in the Duke of Wharton, who considered him with an eye of unspeakable severity.

"If Mr.
Caryll dies," said he coldly, "I shall see to it that you hang, my lord.
I'll not rest until I bring you to the gallows." And then, before more could be said, there came a sound of running steps and labored breathing, and his grace swore softly to himself as he beheld no other than Lord Ostermore advancing rapidly, all out of breath and apoplectic of face, a couple of footmen pressing close upon his heels, and, behind these, a score of sightseers who had followed them.
"What's here ?" cried the earl, without glancing at his son.

"Is he dead?
Is he dead ?" Gascoigne, who was busily endeavoring to stanch the bleeding, answered without looking up: "It is in God's hands.

I think he is very like to die." Ostermore swung round upon Rotherby.

He had paled suddenly, and his mouth trembled.