CHAPTER TENFor the rest of her life Lavina never forgot the next few terrible hours.
For years her dreams were haunted by the memory of running up to the Marquis as he lay bleeding on the ground, throwing herself onto him with a cry of, “Ivan. Oh my love, my love! You must not be dead. You cannot be. Don’t leave me!”
She put her arms about him and held him to her, sobbing.
Then some men came running, fetched by the landlord, lifted him and carried him inside to a bedroom.
The landlord was a kind, sensible man. He dispatched a messenger for the doctor, and another to the McEwuans.
Luckily the doctor was close by and arrived quickly. He extracted the bullet, and managed to stop the bleeding.
“It isn’t as bad as it looks,” he said at last. “The bullet did not strike any vital organ. Wit
