L I E) RAR.Y OF THL U N IVERSITY Of ILLINOIS 823 Sh51)3s Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2010 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign http://www.archive.org/details/shotorghostsseat01sher yEW NOVELS IN THE PRESS. In Tliree Vols. Price Sis. 6d. UNCLE ARMSTRONG. By Lord B##*##*m, Bj the Author of *' Masters and Workmen/' '' The Fate of Folly," ''Naples," &c. II. In Three Vols. Price 31s. 6d. A TROUBLED STREAxM. By the Author of " The Cliffords of Oakley," " Conetance Dale," A-c. III. In Thi-ec Vols. Price 31s. 6d. OUR BLUE JACKETS AFLOAT AND ASHORE. By F. C. ARMSTRONG, Author of "The Two Midshipmen," "The Naval Lieutenant," &c. Extract from the Morning Post, Feb. IGtli, 1866. A very ingenious invention has lately been patented by Messrs. Jay, of Regent Street, — " THE EUTHEIMA." It is nothing less than a self-fit- ting and adjustable bodice, possessing the power of expanding to accommodate any variation of the figure, to obviate all undue pressure and necessity for alteration, and therefore expressly suited to the requirements of ladies in a delicate state of health. " The Eutheima" is made in black silk, elegantly trimmed ; it is tight to the bust, with bands and epaulettes of crepe or of silk gimp and jet beads, but it can be made in any material. The elasticity is contrived by the insertion of welts of elastic webbing under the braces, from the shoulder to the waist, beneath the arms and down the shoulders under the brace ornaments. The set and style are excellent. The ladies appear to be quite ready to appreciate the peculiar merits and conveniences of the new patent, for, though but very recently introduced to the public, the Queen (the Lady's Newspaper) and Court Journal state that considerable numbers have already been sold. SHOT! THE GHOST'S SEAT AT DEYMONT. IN TWO VOLUMES. FREDERICK SHERIDAN, Author of " Cecil Forrester-" Be sure j'our sin mil find you out." Numb, xxxii. 23. VOL. I. fmM : T. CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER, aO, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE, 1866. [the right Of TBANSLATION IS RESERVED. ] 1) ^^ t SHOT! ^ CHAPTER I. It is a few months ago now since, casually passing a night at the little village of Dey- mont, in shire, I overheard a conversation, which aroused my curiosity, having reference to a murder committed many years before. A "Y murder enveloped, as it seemed to me, with more than usual mystery, and accompanied , with more than usual sorrow. Its perpetrator -^ moreover had, till within the last few weeks, vs remained undiscovered. I made enquiries, slight at first, — more closely as I progressed. I VOL. I. B SHOT visited the places, the locality of which it was necessary that I should be acquainted with ; I obtained an introduction to those persons mentioned in the following pages, who were still alive. From portraits I trust that I am able to give a not inaccurate description of those who have passed away. In a word, I have spared no pains, — spent no little time, — in endeavouring to reproduce exactly as they occurred the facts which I am about to nar- rate. I have only to add that, from reasons which will be obvious to everyone, I have in most cases altered the names of both persons and places, and that I have omitted altogether the name of the county in which these events occurred. About thirteen years ago a gentleman was busily engaged in his lodgings in South Street , packing up his things, apparently for a visit to the country. SHOT ! 3 It was a cold \Yinter morning in Januaiy, and the snow fell thick and fast ; in the streets horses were slipping and falling, and poor frozen-out workmen sheltering them- selves under any chance portico from the' ceaseless drifting snow. The wind was sighing plaintively as it whistled round the corners of the street, drivino^ the fleecv snow before it. Here and there, where some obtrusive wall had with- stood it to its face, it had hurled the snow, flake after flake, on a heap, and the cold drift had accumulated till it had become a little mountain of snow. Thither came the boys, — what do London boys prefer to snow? There they made their most slippery slides, and watched the poor old gentlemen's alarm, when they stepped un- warily upon them. There they dared tlieir most darino- deeds — deeds of darino' too ; for here was ammunition enough to last a siege, and hence, in the event of a fierce onslaught B 2 4 SHOT ! of bobbies, tbey had a safe retreat down a neighbouring mews. They were generals, in a way, those boys ; they knew the value of supplies, — they knew the value of keeping their communications open, — they knew the value of arresting the enemy ^s progress by obstacles, such as slides. What was the art of Vauban or Napoleon but an adaptation of this rude knowledge ? You could have seen all this from that little room in South Street: aye, and more too, for you might have watched that poor shivering woman, drawing her tattered apo- logy for a shawl more tiglitly round her, and begging of each careless passer-by the copper without which she must go supperless to bed, — nay, nay, not to bed, but to walk through those cold, bitter streets, — walk all night in an agony of cold. Oh, where is poverty to be found in so gaunt, so hideous a form as in this great, rich, SHOT 1 5 prosperous city? — where can cold be so bitter, as in view of the warm blazing fire? — where can wet be so dreary as when it is sur- rounded by unavailing shelter? — where can hunger be so galling as in sight of the baker's window, the butcher s counter, or where the smell of the rich repast rises to mock the poor famished wretch, who begs, — aye vainly begs, — the crumbs which fall from the rich man's table ? Were the sufferings of Tantalus greater than these? But that room in South Street, — it was pleasant and comfortable enough, for there was a cheerful fire burning in the grate, and not a breath of the cold air could find its way in through the closed window. It was a small, comfortably furnished room on the first floor : a rather worn carpet, and rather old heavy curtains. In the centre there was a table, close to it a comfortable arm-cliair, opposite that again a sofa. Sofa, ^6 SHOT ! chair, and table, they all told a tale of what was going on ; they were all covered with clothes, guns, flasks, and whips, waiting to be packed up. The room was hung witli some half-dozen pictures, — two of these were hunting scraps, a third the famous finish between Voltigeur and Flying Dutchman; Laura Bell's portrait was the fourth, face to face with the great duke ; a pretty view of Eton from the river, and a sketch of an old castellated house, with the word ••' Sturdith" written underneath it, were the two last. There were not many more books in the room than there were pictures ; such as there were, were phiced in rude order on a slide on a writing table. A Don Quixote and a Bible, a Field Exercise book, three green novels, a few volumes of Scott, ' In ]\Iemoriam,' a Johnson's Dictionary, and some dozen others, — apparently neither much used nor much cared for. SHOT The room opened into an inner room, a bed- room. It is not worth while going into this, except to introduce you to the persons who happened at that moment to have gone into it. There were two persons in the room, master and man, — little need of saying which was the master, and which was the man. He, the tallest and broadest of the two, standino: some six feet two in his stockings, with a chest and arm that would have shamed Guy Livingstone, a fresh — I had almost written florid — complexion, a thick moustache on the upper lip, the lower closely shaven, a coarse bull neck, and a firm lip, was the master, Herbert Lawless, Captain and Lieutenant- Colonel in Her Majesty's Eegiment of Guards. My hero? nay, no hero of mine, though one whom he, who reads this history, will hear much of, and therefore, if be is worth knowing at all, worth a little more than a mere passing introduction at the first outset. 8 SHOT You could make a slirewd guess of tlie man's character by merely looking at his face. He was a man whose word there was no disputing. " Move off that gate," said he one day to three hulking fellows whom he suspected of wrong. "Who says so?" was the impertinent rejoinder of the biggest of the three. "I do," was Lawless' answer, and they slunk away. His face had been bronzed with constant out- door exercise, for to field sports he had been heartily attached for twenty years, — ever since, in fact, as a boy of six, he had made liis debut with the H. H. on Castanet? — what a rare galloper that little pony was, and had managed to see the end of a twelve miles' run over a f\iir hunting country. It was ten years after that maiden gallop on Castanet that, one dark winter's night, there was a report of a gun in the home woods at Stardith, and though a mere lad of sixteen, he turned out, and joining his keepers SHOT ! 9 at the mill on the lower end of the wood, led them himself to search for the poachers. I have heard the keeper, who was with him that night, say that they had not gone far before they fell in with three of the gang, and had a sharp tussle, and succeeded in taking two of them. The third, the strongest and most active of the gang, after braining one of the helpers with the butt end of his gun, turned round and bolted right across some heavy ploughed land towards ITicklebury. Toung Lawless only waited two moments to bid the keepers secure the other two and was after the fellow. It was a long chase, for the poacher knew the o-round best, but Lawless had won the steeple chase at Eton, and was not to be beateti by a poacher. For three miles the chase lasted, and then the poacher turned to bay. Lawless remembered little more after that than rusliing at the fellow, and feeling the B 5 10 shot! warm hloo'l trickling down his face from a fearful blow which the poacher received him witli. Bat the keeper says that when he came up, five minutes afterwards, the young mastei- w \> stickino; to the fellow like a bull terrier, tli )iigli he was so exhausted from the loss of l)l()o(l that he fainted immediately aiterw.iiU. You can still see the mark of the poacher .^ iiandivvork on Lawless' forehead. But 1 think that I can tell Lawless' chanuT 1- fovn another anecdote. One wet day 1k' \v;is reading the " Lord of the Isles " — • Scott's j'o -iry he was always partial to — " Vain was then tlae Douglas band, Vain the Campbell's vaunted hand, Vain Kirkpatrieli's bloody dirk, ]\iaking sure of murdcr'b work." Son a riling tempted him to turn to the notes, jMul lie repeated aloud, with a sneer, Brucc's speech, '' Bad tidings, I doubt 1 have slain C -myn." ''Ah," said his tutor, who Lappcii ' I to overliear him, " that was, indeed, SHOT ! 11 a foul spot on Bruce's fair fame." " He was a fool/' was Lawless* answer, '' I should have been ashamed to have come away and left the deed half-done." Yerily, I believe that, had Lawless struck the first blow, Kirkpatrick would never have had an opportunity of earnin^^ his motto. For he came from a hard hitting stock, did this Lawless. His father, who ran away with Miss Deymont, and so obtained old Sturdith Castle, — mach to the horror of my Lord Deymont. — But I shall explain this afterwards. His fiither hDst an arm in the retreat on Torres Vedras, but right well did he repay the blow. 1 am told that, rising in his stirrups, he swung his sword over his head, and with one blow cut through helmet and head of the French cuirassier. "• Give as much as you receive," was his constant maxim, and he acted up to it when he repaid with such good interest the stroke of the French cuirassier. 12 SHOT ! Metbinks I can see him now— bis left sleeve banging at bis side — mounted on a plain Irish nag, the stralgbtest and hardest goer in all the hunt. A mad, hot-headed fellow to the very end of bis days. His maddest act was his last. To ride at a pike-gate, which the collector closed, after a three miles burst. He was on Crazy Jane that morning — poor old mare! .^lany a fall she and her master had had togetlier, but never such a one as this on that hard turnpike road. Poor old mare ! they bad to shoot her, for her back vras broken. Shoot her while her master lay senseless in ol I Style's, at Brook Green, — for be ni'ver spoke again, though he lived, if insensibility can be called life, for six hours after bis fall. His son, Herbert, was only ten years old when this happened. He was, indeed, an orphan, for bis birth bad cost bis mother her life. But Lord Deymont, possibly for bis mother's sake, for be never forgave the father shot! 13 for his marriage, was kind to the lad ; had him often staying with him at Deymont ; ran down to see him at Eton ; in fact, acted as a father to him. Perhaps, after reading the next chapter, you will think that his lordship had some motive in patronising his young kinsfolk. If so, you will be wrong. What Lord Deymont did, he did from sheer good nature, and, if there was any other reason, from a remem- brance of the lad's mother. Eeader, I have now introduced you to Herbert Lawless. I must again rejjeat, not to my hero. For, indeed, in tliis tale of mine, there is no hero and no hcioine. 'Tis a history of many people, — not of any one. But as you will see, perhaps, more of Lawless than of anyone else, I thought it right to set out by stating most emphatically that he is not my hero. His servant was a man of some inches less both in height and in girth — of an unpleasant 14 SHOT ! countenance, and uninviting manner. He was a soldier-servant, and had all the type, all the low-breeding, of a soldier-servant about him ; yet he was useful to Lawless. Not too proud, as some servants are, to per- form the most menial occupation ; and yet withal a man who was capable, on an emergency, of being trusted with business of a somewhat delicate nature. A quick loader, and passionately addicted to shooting; a good rough-rider, and knowing about a horse. Some share oF Lawless' success in steeple- chasino' was due to his servant's skill. They were packing — the master an 1 the servant, — packing, as I said before, in pre- paration for a journey into the country. What a mystery packing is. In what con- fusion shirts, collars, and trousers were jumbled together, ' under Lawless' hasty exertions; and with what regularity and smoothnes.^ they were arranged by his ready and careful servant. SHOT ! 15 Lawless had just written a direction, and bad given it to his servant. It ran thus : — Captain Lawless, Marquis of Deymont's, Deymont, Spinwell. 16 SHOT ! CHAPTEE II. Those wlio have travelled — and in this railway age who has not ? — by the South Western Line to Southampton, probably remember tbe station at Hicklebury, where the branch to the large town of Spin well turns off; and if they have waited, as the trains generally do, for a quarter of an hour at the Junction, they probably have made some enquiries about tlie old house at Deymont, Lord Deymont's country seat, which all the world knows is only about six miles from Hicklebury. For a queer, rambling old building is that shot! 17 house at Dejmont. It must have been once, in the old feudal days, but a small castle, and much of that little has been pulled down to make room for improvements and additions. The greater part of the present building was erected towards the end of the sixteenth century, and the best rooms in the whole house are those which were added then. But the first Lord Deymont — he was created by Charles the Second — had been up to London, and became enamoured of a certain banquet chamber at Whitehall, which had not been erected many years then ; and nothing could satisfy him but to tack a chapel on to his own house at Deymont, built, as it seems to me, in rather poor imitation of Inigo Jones' great work, but ^twas thought mighty fine at the time, and the simple country folk did not object to the strange union of Norman, Elizabethan, and Italian styles of architecture, thus com- bined in Deymont House. 18 SHOT ! But if the house is very doubtfully admirable, the park is well worthy of the Lead of even so old a family as the Deymoiits. I know no finer trees than I can show you in this park. There is an oak avenue — flanking for half a mile the road that leads from Hieklebnry Lodge to the house — in which there are a dozen trees, for each of which, in the heat of the old war, Mr. Turntool — he was made Sir John afterwards, and was elected M.P, for Southampton — offered my lord of that day a thousand pounds. But my lord was too fond of his old oaks to part with them, even for a thousand pounds, and so, honoured be his memory for it ! the glorious old trees are still standing. There is many a pretty drive, and many a pretty spot, in the deer park at Deymont, besides the oak avenue, but I took you at once to the old trees, for they will give you a good idea of Deymo it Park. For eight centuries has Deymont been the SHOT ! 19 property of the Dejinonts. The land was granted originally by the first William to one Eobert, a hard-headed Norman, who had fought under him at Hastings, but it is not until one hundred years later that I find any further mention of any of the house. Not until the time of that Geoffrey the Eeady, who rode in beside the Earl of Gloucester into Arundel Castle, when Adelaide of Louvain opened the gates to Matilda. ''Madam," so the tradition runs, said the Earl, '' The Prince shall soon be our King." ''''Madame^'' ex- claimed Geoffrey, speaking in French, ''z7 est deja mon roi^ It is thought, I cannot say bow truly, that the name Deymont is a corruption of this speech. It is, at any rate, certain that it was assumed by Geoffrey's son, a hard-hitting, give and take fellow, who fought in the great battle near Alnwick. No wonder then that so strenuous a supporter of the throne should have gloried in his father's loyal speech. 20 SHOT ! It is in memory, it is believed, of this staunch old Plantagenet that the Deymonts assumed the single word " Eeady '' for their motto. From what I have said, it will be seen that the Deymonts, even before they bore that name, were no powerless chieftains. All the broad acres, that surround Deymont now, belonged to them then, and part of the old house had been erected before those days. It was the lineal representative of these Deymonts, who was a favourite companion of the Black Prince, a doughty knight, ready for any daring deed. In acknowledgment of his prowess, he was made, about the time of the peace of Bretigny, Lord Sturdith, and was presented by his prince with a yet more substantial thank-offering — no less a present than Sturdith Castle and its vast domains. Sturdith is only ten miles from Deymont. It is almost equal to the latter in extent ; but, notwithstanding the source from which the gift had come, Lord Sturdith had preferred SHOT ! 21 his old inheritance of Dejmont ; and had left Deyraont to his eldest, and Sturdith to his second son. Time had not severed the two families which had thus been formed from each other. Till within the last few years neither had wanted a male inheritor of the property. Judicious intermarriages, constantly recur- ring, had united the kindred properties so closely to each other, that Lord Sturdith of Deymont had hardly ever been removed by more than a second cousinship from the owner of Sturdith. But time had effected other alterations. Charles II. had made Lord Sturdith Earl of Deymont. George III. had exalted the earldom into a marquisate. Three times a Lord Deymont had been taken into the coun- cils of his sovereign. Three times the coveted garter had been bound on the knee of the chief of the house. The first Marquis of Deymont — he was a 22 SHOT ! friend of Lord Bute's, and owed bis ad- vancement to his staunch allegiance to that minister — married Eose Deymont, sister to Mr. Deymont, of Sturdith. You will see that the marriage was important when I tell you that her brother — there were only two children — died from a fall while out hunting^ soon after his marriage, and only left one child, a daughter. Lady Deymont, the first marchioness, had only this little girl between her and all the Sturdith estates, so that there was some consolation, especially as the girl was weakly, notwithstanding that the event which for five centuries, generation after generation of Deymonts had been dreading, had at last taken place, — that a girl was the heiress of Sturdith. But when the girl grew out of her early sicknesses, she showed no symptoms of an intention of dying, as she ought to have done. My Lord Deymont, the second marquis — for by this time Lord Bute's friend was dead — SHOT ! 23 grew uneasy. For, tlie deuce take it ! the girl might marry. Marry, why not? — into some other family. Some peer without an estate, some duke without a dukedom, and sever Deymont and Sturdith for ever. Perhaps it was filial obedience that made his son — who at the time my story opens, nearly thirty years afterwards, was third marquis — perhaps, I say, it was filial obedi- ence, or perhaps it was family tradition, that made his son propose to the heiress of Stur- dith ; but, indeed, it did not require very much obedience ; it could have cost no one much effort to love the light, graceful beauty, richer even in the charms that nature had so unsparingly lavished on her, than in the vast possessions that were so soon to be her own. Surely there could have been no better union than this. There was one insuperable objection to it, though — one which the old peer had never dreamed of. Miss Deymont was foolish enough, nay, wicked enough, to 24 SHOT ! forget that she was a Deymont, to forget the traditions of the Deymonts, and to refuse her cousin's hand. The old peer never held his head up after that ; but he died — died of a broken heart, when the last news came that his niece had fallen in love with and married a penniless Captain of Dragoons — a casual acquaintance at a ball, a man of no family, no property, no expectations, an Irishman to boot — Captain Lawless. The old peer, as I have said, died. His son, the third marquis, having fretted over his disappointment for a year, and mourned his father another year, married, and married well, a few months after his cousin Mrs. Lawless' death in her confinement. Poor thing ! She just lived to see, to kiss, and to bless her only child. Six and twenty years had passed since that day. Out of four children which Lord Dey- mont had had, two had survived. The eldest, shot! . 25 Lord Stnrdith, was but little more than of age. He had passed through Eton creditably. At college he had earned well-merited honours, and in the last few months he had been called to more serious duties, bv beino- returned to Parliament as member for the count J. The other child, a daughter, Lady Cle- mentina Deymont, was but just eighteen. The year before she had made her cUhut in London, and old superannuated beaux had longed for youth again, and penniless young men had sighed for means — means large enough to allow them to aspire to win Lady Clementina's hand. And it was a prize that was worth winning — that bright, cheerful girl. What though there were others whose features were more regular, whose hair was more auburn, whose ancle was even better shaped, where was there so bright a smile, such happy, twinkling blue eyes, such matchless irregularity of YOL. I. c 26 SHOT ! feature? What if her teeth were not so white as those of others ? you would have never dreamed of thinking that thej spoilt her beauty. What though there were others who could play better, sing better — others more accomplished ? It was a part of her happy nature to warble rather than sing, to have a smatterino; and not a knowledo;e of art. It was a nature to love for its own bright, happy self, and not for the added accom- plishments of this restless world. The child whose birth had cost Mrs. Law- less her life had grown, as the reader has pro- bably anticipated, into the Captain Lawless who has already been introduced. Much in- deed depended on his life. You had to carry your finger up three generations of his genealogy before you could find on whom his strictly entailed estate would, on his death, devolve. You had to carry your finger up to that Miss Deymont of Sturdith, who, upwards of sixty years before, had married the first marquis. shot! 27 So that, in the event of Captam Lawless' death, the two properties would have been united under her heir — Lord Deymont. And, anxious as Lord Deymont was to prevent the separation of these two properties, he might almost have been excused if at times he had had a lingering hope that his gallant cousin would be carried off at a pre- mature age — carried off perhaps by a gallant death, a death worthy of an Englishman, of a soldier, and of a descendant of the Dej- monts. - I have said mighty for in reality his lord- ship had never wished any such thing. He had for years cherished a scheme — cherished it so fondly that, notwithstanding his own early experiences, he had never regarded the difficulties of its accomplishment — of a very different nature. Lawless should marry Lady Clementina — perhaps even take the name of Deymont — but he should marry Lady Clementina. Nothing was more pro- c 2 28 SHOT ! bable. Lawless was iiked hy everyone ; Clementina was universally admired. In town, Lord Deymont took care tliat no one should be asked to his bouse more than Lawless. In the country Lawless was bis nearest neighbour. Could there be anything- more probable, anything more desirable, than a marriage between Captain Lawless and Lady Clementina Deymont ? Yet a little more, before I finish this long introductory chapter. Lord Deymont had had one brother, a brother who had died long ago. but had left two orphan children and a few thousand pounds, on which these two children had struggled on. They were a boy and a girl — Guy and Marion Deymont. Guy Deymont was a few months younger than Lord Sturdith. He was of middle height, handsome, with a small, piercing blue eye, a commanding forehead, Eoman nose, and a firm, masterly mouth. He SHOT ! 29 had left Eton, where he had been his rival, at the same time as Lord Sturdith, but, instead of accompanying the latter to Oxford, he had gone to Cambridge, where he had taken a respectable, though not very distin- guished, degree. But he had shown more promise than his place in the class list sug- gested. He had won more than one prize for declamations and essays, which proved that the young man had already dived deep into the hidden intricacies of English His- tory, and had eagerly sought, amidst a dung- hill of rubbish, for the rare gems of English literature. Leaving Cambridge, he had gone to the bar, and though he had but just been called, and was still a briefless barrister, his untiring energy had gained him no little knowledge of jurisprudence, and had paved the way to his attaining the position, no in- considerable one for so young a man, which he has acquired at the bar in the twelve years which have elapsed since then. 30 SHOT 1 His sister, Marion Deymont, was of the same age as her cousin — Lady Clementina. Like the latter, she had come out the year before. And the penniless girl had made almost a greater sensation than her rich cousin. I have two photographs of Miss Deymont before me, but I wish that I had the photographer's art to reproduce on this page the most engaging beauty that my eye ever gazed on. A tall commanding figure, just in every proportion, and graceful in every motion, ancles exquisitely turned, hands delicately small. Oh! if you had not even seen her face, you would have loved that figure. Those photographs I have before me — the one I like the best, is that in which she is sitthig at a table, having just raised her eyes from a book which she has been read- ing. Lioht auburn hair, drawn enough from off her face to allow her ear to peep from tlios3 tresses; light auburn hair nestles in a rippling line on a front as matchlessly formed SHOT ! 31 as every other portion of her head. Eye- brows, and long silken eyelashes of the same hue, shade two light blue eyes. Her lips are just parted, and you can just catch a glimpse of the white teeth they guard so jealously ; and confess that every feature is a model of regularity — a model worthy of a sculptor's study. But be with her a little longer, and see her bright complexion; watch her winning smile; hear the music of her voice, and own that, though my poor description is at fault, I have a gem for my heroine. 32 SHOT ! CHAPTER III. Probably all of us have, at one time or an- other, undertaken a long journey on a cold, snowy day. We have all done the same thmg; wrapped ourselves up in the same manner ; growled in the same ill-humour on being forced to dive for our ticket. Probably all of us purchased a Times ; a Punch if it was a Wednesday ; or a BeWs Life^ if it was Saturday. Nine out of ten of us would have asked his vis-a-vis if he objected to smoking. Ninety-nine out of a hundred would have re- ceived a permissory reply. Unless we were very good-tempered, we grumbled at the SHOT ! 33 train for going so slowly, and when we liad finished our railway journey, wished to heaven that the fly would go as quick as the train ; and we probably felt much the same satisfaction, and, unless we were bound to our own house, I must add the same feeling of uneasiness, that it is impossible quite to subdue on arriving at a great strange house, and on being ushered, with all the disorder of a railway journey upon one, into the bright company that is discussing afternoon tea in the drawing-room. AVith this short paragrapli I venture to ask the reader to be satisfieil, and to imaoiue that after much such a journey as I have alluded to. Captain Lawless was shown into the pre- sence of the fair company at Deymont. Lord and Lady Deymont came forward at once '..o meet him. His lordship was a short, thickset, bald man, of some sixty years of age, with a slight tendency to corpulency, and a bright, good-humoured eye. Hm iady- c 5 34 SHOT ! ship, some fifteen years younger, had all the traces on her still of her beauty, in the days, twenty-five years ago now, when London ran mad for a season and a half, after the pret- tiest blonde that had ever been sesn ; and thought Lord Deymont the happiest of the happy, when Lady Clementina Devereux con- sented to take his name. On a settee, in a corner of the room. Captain Lav\rless' hasty glance could just dis- tinguish Guy Deymont and his cousin, Lady Clementina. They seemed, at any rate, in no haste to rise to welcome the intruder, even if they were aware of his entrance. His eye wandered hastily from tliem, though, and lingered on another sofa, where Lord Sturdith w^as bending in close conversa- tion over the matchless figure of Marion Deymont. She had just raised her eyes, with a glance of pleasure, to meet his. Perhaps it was vanity — surely if so, it was excusable — that had permitted her pretty foot to peep SHOT ! 35 forth froai beneath the folds of the rich brown silk she was wearing. There were three other persons in the room — Sir Anthony Tyler, a rich, not very prepos- sessing baronet, verging on sixty, but an M.P. for his county, and a good Conservative ; his wife. Lady Tyler ; — charity perhaps might have hoped that she had once had a waist ; — and their daughter, Constance Tyler. Two negatives make an affirmative I know that it is a bad one, — but it is the only tolerable reason that I can produce for two such ugly old people having so handsome a daughter. Dark, tall, jet- black hair in great luxuriance, jet-black eyes, good features, faultless teeth, perpetually visi- ble, a graceful figure ;— yet all this rich beauty spoilt from a want of expression, or rather from the insipid expression that was per- petually recurring in her silly smile. Captain Lawless was intimately acquainted "with everyone in the room. Li regard to the three young ladies, — and this story more im- 6 SHOT ! mediately concerns them — lie was in a some- what peculiar position, which, to miclerstand the events that ensued, it is, I think, absolutely necessary to mention. Sundry innuendoes, to use no strong-er term, had long apprised both Lawless and Lady Clementina of her parent's wishes. They therefore were neither of them ignorant of the relation which it was hoped that they would assume tow.irds each other. For Miss Tyler Lawless had sliown a somewhat unusual predilection ; at- tracted by her pretty face he had, at the commencement of the season, flirted out- rageously with her, and she, flattered, no doubt, by imagining that she had conquered the most handsome, the most popular, and almost the most eligible man in London, had been foolish enough to let her liking warm Into something more — to fall desperately in love with her admirer. Lawless soon wearied of the empty beauty, grew heartily sick of her SHOT ! 37 silly speeclies, thought no more of the girl, the happiness of whose life he had, perhaps, been the means of destroying, than he would have of a pretty hack — or, for a more apposite comparison, of a pretty picture. Perhaps there was another reason too for his disrco'ardof Miss Tvler ; ever since he had first seen Maiion Deymont, some months ago now. Lawless bad been a changed man. He had abandoned his old pursuits, his promis- cuous amours, his innumerable flh'tations, the fastest of his acquaintance; given up his drag, and taken to riding — Miss Deymont rode— extemporised a passion for music —Miss Dey- mont was fond of the opera, ^^ay, he had actually gone to an ( )ratorio at Exeter Hall, and a flower show at the Botanical, and be- come a regular attendant at clmreh — her cliurcli. Such is the power of love. It was not much use, though ; nine times out of ten Sturdith Avas leanino; over her at the opera ; riding by her in the park. Some- 38 SHOT ! how or other he seemed always to be at the Botanical, — always in Exeter Hall when she was. He had another advantage too, at church, — she sat in Lord Deymont's pew. Such was tlie company which Lawless had been invited to meet. They came forward, one and all, to wel- come him. ''I am afraid you have had a cold journey, Lawless," began Lord Deymont. '' Well, indeed, it was; it requires no little courage to tempt one to leave home such weather as this ; and no chance of any hunting, Sturdith.'^ " The hounds haven't been out for a week," said Lord Sturdith, "but we can give you something to do. Lawless. It's a splendid year for woodcocks." " Just like you men," broke in her lady- ship, '' we ask you down to a ball, and you pretend to be so happy to come, and after all it turns out that you would much rather have SHOT ! ^ 39 stayed in town if it had not been for the hunting." '' I don't plead guilty at all, Lady Deyniont ; you will see me dance furiously to-night. I always shoot straight after dancing hard." ''Ha! ha!" laughed Lord Sturdith, ''we shan't let you rest then all night long, for we want straight powder to-morrow in Hilton Copse." " You don't mean to say that you are going to shoot that to-morrow i why I am amply re- paid for having been trozen .^alive on that miserable railway/ " There you go, again," said Lady Dey- mont, " shooting, shooting, nothing but shoot- ino;, — heio'ho ! What a pity it is that women were ever made ; the world would liave got on so much better if there had been nothing but men and horses, dogs and pheasants, and, let me see, a fox now and then !" "I shan't hold out anv longer, Lady Dey- mont. I will prove you are wrong, though, 40 SHOT ! — if at least Miss Deymont will give me the pleasure of the first waltz?" It was just perceptible, the cloud that flitted over Lady Deymont's brow. It was just audi- ble, the whisper that Sturdith breathed into Miss Deymont's ear. She coloured up for a moment, and then answered, with a smile, '' I am so flattered with Lady Deymont's account of your object in coming here, that I shall decline the honour, with thanks," ai.d the proud beauty turned on her heel and ■walked with Lord Sturdith to the other end of the room. There was an awkward silence for about a minute, and then Lawless asked, '' This ball at Hicklebury is for a charity, isn^tit?" ''Yes, the Amalgamated Cripples," ansvrered Lord Deymont. " It's very good of you to go so fcW ; it must be a long way from here?" " It's close on twelve mile?, but we can SHOT ! 41 pack six into the omnibus — have you seen my new omnibus ? — and the rest of us can go in the carriage. We shall have to start early, thouo;h. Soon after nine." " We dine at half-past six, Captain Law- less," added Lady Deymont, "I hope that you can get up an appetite by then." " The ladies,'^ said Lord Deymont, " will not dress before dinner. They say they must have time for the finishing touches after- wards — " '' But you needn't dress," said her ladyship, '' either, unless you wish to before dinner.'' " Marion, ice really ought to go to dress," said Lady Clementina; '^ it is getting on to six." Miss Deymont was too much occupied to hear at first; but Lord Sturdith handed her a candle. Lawless just caught her last words, as she took the candle from Lord Sturdith, — *' Well, as you wish it, I won't wear the wreath, but the white rose instead." 42 SHOT ! CHAPTER IV. " I SAY, Lawless," said Lord Sturdith, as he closed the door on the ladies, '^ I am afraid we have not put you up very well; but we expect Devereux and the Ellisons early next week, so we have had to stow you away in a rather uncouth manner.'* " So as you give me a bed to sleep in, and a bath in the morning, I don't much care where I am. I have no doubt that I shall do well enouofh/' '' It's only fair to tell you the truth," said Lord Deymont ; " we've put you into the haunted room; but the ghost hasn't appeared SHOT ! 43 for years. If you like, thougli, I can give you another room ; but it would be a very small one/' *' Don't think of it, for a moment. Nothing I should like better than to see a ghost, par- ticularly if it was a pretty woman." "Well, then," said Lord Deymont, -'I think you'd better show Lawless his room, Sturdith; he won't have too much time to make himself comfortable after his journey." The haunted room was in the very oldest part of the house. A long passage separated it from the reception-room; indeed, there was no room of any sort near the haunted chamber. Perhaps it had obtained its name from its being so sequestered, for you would have hardly thought that the room which Lawless was shewn into deserved such a re- putation. A cheerful coal fire, sparkling in the grate, lit it up with a comfortable glare. A large four-postei was at the other end of the room — a 44 SHOT ! very comfortable sofa at the foot of the bed. An inviting arm chair on the proper left of the fire-place, and a writing desk in the middle of the room. A large wardrobe, a dressing table, and all the other necessaries of a bed- chamber, all of the darkest mahogany ; and a book-case, stocked with some old unread volumes, helped to fill up the large room. There was one other peculiarity in the room, which was not quite so comfortable, — I mean that it had two windows opposite each other. The fact was, " the haunted room" filled up the whole of one storey of the turret on the west of the house, and so the builder had, regardless of draughts, thrown out a window to the north, and another to the south. Lord Sturdith waited to see that Lawless had everything that he could want, and then left him to himself. His servant had already unpacked his things for him, he was in no great hurry to dress ; and as he dawdled about, taking off his SHOT ! 45 coat, and putting on his dressing gown, liis eye wandered round his new apartment. There were two pictures in the room, large- sized oil paintings — family portraits, ap- parently of a remote date — portraits of a young man and a girl. The high ruff which the lady wore — the pointed beard which the gentleman had, apparently, been just old enough to grow, fixed a date for the pictures at once — the earlier part of the seventeenth century. There was a peculiarly sad and frightened expression about the girl's face — a face that must, in life, have been conspicuously hand- some, and the representation of which would have been pleasing, had it not been for the scared uneasy look which the painter had somehow managed to associate with it. But it was the other portrait that attracted Law- less most — an admirably-painted picture. Never was a face pourtrayed more radiant 46 SHOT ! with every happiness, every hope and aspira- tion of youth. But, as he gazed upon it, more and more it flashed upon him the likeness which that portrait bore to his cousin, Lord Stur- dith. Despite the difference of counten- ance and the pointed beard, there was the same shaped head, the same high forehead, the same eyes, the same features, and the same expression — yes, the same expression as that which he had noticed on Lord Sturdith's face that evening, when he had handed Marion Deymont her candle. It grew on him, more and more, as he looked at it ; and yet there was not, pro- bably, anything so very remarkable in the likeness, for the picture was, no doubt, a portrait of one of Lord Deymont' s ancestors. When Lawless reached the drawing-room, he found that the whole party had assembled there before him. They occupied much the SHOT ! 47 same positions as they had on their arrival — that is to saj, Lord Sturdith and Miss Dey- mont, Lady Clementina and Guy sat apart, as they had before. There was no help for it, — Lawless had to tackle his old flame, Miss Tyler. But he had not to wait long, for dinner was announced almost immediately; and, as Lord Deymont led off Lady Tyler to the dining-room, and Sturdith, possibly dreading some contrary orders, hastily followed with Miss Deymont, Lady Deymont, with her sweetest smile, turned on Lawless, and said, '' Captain Lawless, will you take Lady Clementina, — Guy, will you take Miss Tyler, please?" Oh, Lady Deymont, Lady Deymont, how happy you were, in having an opportunity, as you thought, of putting a stop to that flirtation. It was so bold a stroke of yours, that I almost pity you for your failure. Yet it failed, and in this wise, — 48 SHOT ! Lord Deymont had placed Lady Tyler on his right, and Lord Sturdith had sat down with Miss Deymont on the left of Lady Dey- mont's chair. Guy had just handed Miss Tyler into a chair on Lord Deymont's left, so that when Lawless and Lady Clementina came into the room, there were four vacant places, — Lady Deymont's, at the bottom of the table — a place reserved, of course, for Sir Anthony, on her right — a place between Lady Tyler and Marion Deymont on one side, and a place between Guy Deymont and Sir Anthony on the other side of the table. Can you doubt what happened? Lady Clementina was quite as anxious to sit next Guy, as Lawless was to sit next Miss Dey- mont, so she made no objection to Lawless', '' I am afraid we must separate. Lady Clementina." So that when Lady Deymont came into the room, she had the satisfaction of seeing everything just as she had not wished it to be. SHOT ! 49 There was no help for it, though. She could hardly have made everyone change their places, so had to be content with saying, " I am sorry you have had to separate, Captain Lawless," and then grin and bear it. Guy Deymont took no notice of Lady Clementina till after grace. He was quite safe, then, so he abrupt!}- ended his con- versation with Miss Tyler, and turned to Lady Clementina. I am afraid Miss Tyler could not have found her dinner a very amusino- one, for not another word did he address to her during the whole evening. On the other side of the table Lawless was just a little more successful, for he managed to gain Miss Deymont's ear for a few seconds, while he lamented the long time that had elapsed since he had seen her ; but it was only for a few seconds, for Sturdith turned round to her, " You never got your ride, after ail, then, Marion. How did you amuse youi'self while y^q were out shooting ?*' VOL. I. D 50 SHOT ! " Oh, Clementina and I occupied ourselves with making bouquets for this evening. I made Clementina keep a bud for you ; did you see it ? We sent it up to your bed- room/' " Yes, thanks, and guessed whom I owed it to ; I shall only wear it on one condition, though/' '' And that is—?'' " That you dance the first waltz with me, and all the others I ask you for, unless," and he bent over her so that Lawless could hardly catch the words, " you prefer sitting them out." There was a happy flush came over Marion Deymont's face, but she only said, " you know how fond I am of dancing, Sturdith ; it is not likely that I should refuse any one, is it?" " Then, Miss Deymont," broke in Lawless, "Ihope— " " Was there any news in London, Captain SHOT ! 51 Lawless ?' asked old Sir Anthony, who had not observed that Lawless was speaking. " Was there any news in London ?'* repeated the Baronet, as he got nothing but a frown at first in answer to his question. " In London — no. Why, there's no one in London. I have not seen a carriage for a month, and I have had the whole of White's to myself for the last six weeks." " I hope that you did not find your room very dreadfully gloomy," asked Lady ^o^y- mont, with her sweetest smile. " On the contrary ; it was as comfortable as possible." " I insisted upon their telling you first. I thought that it was only right to do so." " Thank you, very much, but 1 am afraid that I am one of those uninteresting, incre- dulous individuals, who don't believe in the existence — that's not quite the right word, though — of ghosts at all. Don't you remem- D 2 LIBRARY i;N!VrpqiTY r Of H!wR!f 62 SHOT ! ber what Coleridge says about the ghost of Samuel? I believe he's right — ^aud, if so, the only reall}- authentic ghost vanishes/' " Is Captain Lawless really in a haunted room, Lord Deymont?" asked Miss Tyler. " Yes ; I don't think that he is the sort of person that ghosts will trouble. I say, Law- less, it is a lady haunts the room, you know. She's very pretty, so if you do 833 her, don't fall in love with her." There was a laugh round the table, but Miss Tyler only turned pale. '' I'm glad it's a she, " said Lawless, "Nothing like a pretty face, even if it isn't substantial enough to kiss. By-the-bye, though, I said that I didn't believe in ghosts, but I do in tricks ; so bar tricks all of you, for upon my honour, I will fire a pistol at the ghost, whoever it is." " What is the story of the ghost, Lord Dey- mont V" asked Lady Tyler. '' Oh, it's an old family tradition. A cen- SHOT ! 53 tury and a half old ; but it hasn't been seen for I don't know how long." " What, have you got a ghost?'' said Sir Anthony, from the other end of the table. " I shall have a greater respect for Deymont than ever." '''Well, we have a ghost; at least, people say that one of the rooms is haunted by a lady." '' i\nd Avho was, or is she?" '• Oh, poor thing — whether she walks or no — her story is well known. Ii is a sad story, too; I don't wonder at its giving rise to a ghost story." Miss Tyler bent nearer to his lordship ; somehow or other, every one, even Guy and Lady Clementina, and ISturdith and Miss Deymont had stopped speaking; all were waiting to hear the story. ''Who ever heard of a ghost story before going to a ball," laughed Lord Deymont; " besides it is two hundred years old now, 54 SHOT ! and we shall frighten Lawless out of his wits." '' Oh ! do please tell it me," begged Miss Tyler. "Well then, it's above two hundred years ago now, since the heir of the Deymonts was murdered.'* '' Murdered!' said Lady Tyler, with a start. '' Yes, he was an only son — that Lord Sturdith — ahout the same age as Sturdith is aiow ! he Avas murdered in Hilton Wood." "Ah," said Sir Anthony, " that's the wood you are going to shoot to-morrow, isn't it?" " Yes; I will show you the very spot where the murder was." " But I thought you said that the ghost was a lady?" said Miss Deymont, in a tremb- ling voice. '' So I did ; but you go too fast. This young Sturdith was in love, and the woman he loved is said to haunt this house." SHOT ! 55 "But what was lie murdered for?" " That is the worst of it all ; it so hap- pened that his Cousin Deymont, of Sturdith, loved the same woman. Whether it was accidentally or not, I do not know, but he met her walking with Sturdith one winter morning earlj, in Hilton Wood. I fancy there were high words passed between the cousins at first, and that words led to blows ; but at any i^ate. Lord Sturdith was killed in the struggle.'^ " And the murderer ?" '' Oh they were lawless times, those. Prince Eupert wanted drasjoons, and there was no bolder spirit in all his troops than poor Stur- dith's murderer. He was killed at Marston Moor." ''Too good a death for such a wretch," said Lady Tyler. " Yes, and so," added Lord Deymont, with a smile, '' thinks the poor ghost. Poor girl ; in her life she never recovered that awful 56 bhot! day. She seems to have turned into a help- less imbecile. Foor Lord Dejmont let her live here, and she used to steal out at all hours to the grave where her lover had been laid, and sit for hours together upon it, chanting some wild incoherent ditty, or tend- ing the flowers which she had planted upon it." ''Did she live long?" '' No ; not very long, and then they said that her ghost used to appear ; there is an old superstition in the family that it is un- easy because the murder was unavenged at the time. It is to be laid some day, for the murder is to be avenged at last, but how that is to be, Heaven only l^nows ; it is almost as incredible as the ghost itself" "' But it hasn't appeared then lately ?'' '' Lately — no ; not for years and years. There was an absurd story a long tiuie ago of its having appeared; but that is the only time I ever heard it talked of even ; and, let SHOT ! 57 me see," lie leaned over towards his wife, *' that was soon after we were married, wasn't it, Clementina. Yes, it must have been about twenty years ago, for I remember that it was about the time that Sturdith w^as born — but I declare you. are none of you taking care of yourselves. Sir Anthony, a glass of "wme — hand the wine to Sir xVnthony. Lavv- less won't you join us. Here's to pleasant slumbers, and no ghosts." " How long is it since the murder took place?" asked Sa- Anthony, after a pause. '' Two hundred and odd vcars now. It vfas lu^j or ^0, i tiiiiii:, xoL^ wiii h.-ml iiio whole storv tokl in Heavitome's historv of tl* c'^^L*^^'; wc have '^^c'.irco of ^he v "op- lord and his lady-love." " 1 should rather like to see them." ""Then you must make friends with Law- less, for they are hung in the haunted room." '' Oh, then," said Lawless, '' that accounts D 5 58 shot! for the peculiar expression on the girl's face. It looks almost like the picture of a mad woman.'' '• You noticed that, then. Why 1 believe yon are already working yourself up to believe in ghosts. It is not a bad beginning — that notion about the picture — but it's quite true. She has that expression. The picture was painted after the murder." •' Well, for my part," interrupted Lady Devmont, from the other end of the table, ''I think that we have had enough of murders and ghosts. Won't you have some more jelly, Lady Tyler; 1 dare say we shan't get much of a supper at Hicklebury. By-the- bye, how shall we pack?'^ " Oh, I think," was his lordship's answer, *' that Sir Anthony and Lady Tyler had better come with us in the carriage, and let the six dancers take care of themselves in the omni- bus. I'll wager they'll be happier than if we were with them." SHOT ! 59 CHAPTER V. It took very nearly two hours — the drive to Hioklebury that evening. It is true that it is only twelve miles ; but the roads were in a bad state, v^ithjust a coating of half- frozen snow upon them, so that it was as much as the horses, though they liad been roughed, couhl do to get the carriages up the long hill that leads into the town. But to at least four of the six people in the omnibus those two hours went but too quickly. How was it after they had been so much to- gether that day, and had sat together at din- 60 SHOT ! iier, that Gny find Lady Cl.Mnontina, that Sturdlth and Miss Deyraont, could have any- thing left to say to each other? Lawless had the reputation of beinf^'in agreealde man, yet Lawless soon exhausted the ft'w tilings he liad to say to Miss Tyler, and s;i( moodily and sleepily silent for the rest of the dilve. But they reached the Town Hdl oT lliekle- bury at last, and in a few mom 3; its more were in tlie ball-room. A lono' laro'e room, bt^antifiillv li r it 'd with two great chan-'leliers In tiio ,i 1 lie, and coronets of candhs all roun 1. !-i the very centre, a bay window, Inrge emmo-h for the b:ind to sit in, a floor exquisirelv slippery, without being greasy ; saea w is tii • hall-room at HickUd)nry. Opposite the b;ui voice in the passage, " I tell ye 111 not, — go away ; Til none of you," — and saw that she was in hot alterca- tion with another man. It only cost Jim a slight effort to take this fellow by the collar of the coat and fling him outside the door. " What's he been saying to ye, Mary ?" he asked, putting his arm round the latter's waist. VOL. I. H 146 SHOT ! Mary looked down, and hesitated for a moment; and the man whom Jim had handled so roughly answered her in a sulky tone, " Saying to her — were but a saying what you say to her dozen times, be bound, in the day." '^ Well, then, close your ugly mouth, and don't let me find yer speaking to Mary again.'' The other retreated till he was well out of Jim's reach, and then said , '' Mighty fine, mighty fine. Mister Jim, while you're here ; but yer don't think now, do yer, that Warleigh will let yer go on with yer poaching, — living here all day, and shooting pheasants all night, — 'tisn't likely, that's what 'tisn't. What did yer empty yer gun at this morning, eh ? I'll be sworn ye had a shot, for I saw the burnt cap on't, — that's what I did." At the beginning of this speech Jim had turned to Mary, and was leading her slowly SHOT ! 147 away. At the middle lie turned round so suddenly that the other stopped for a moment and drew back still more ; but, at the allusion to his gun having been fired, Jim turned away again. '^ Will yer come for a walk with me, Mary ?' he asked, after a pause of a few minutes. They walked together down the lane by which Lawless had reached the Swan, and they sat down on the bank beneath the row of oaks which skirt the high road. "If Ned Eaggles, Mary,'' Jim said, at last, "misuses thee, ril,—ril—" He bent a tough hazel that he had ga- thered in his walk till it broke : I know not whether the action was typical of his inten- tions towards Ned Eaggles. He broke this tough hazel-stick, and, flinging it from him, continued, " But what's the use of my saying so, when I shall be away from my own darling?" H 2 14S SHOT ! '' Jim/' said Mary, raising two large watery eyes till they met her lover's, "you going away, going away from me ?" "Aye, Mary, and from no will of my own, you may take your oath ; but these hounds, Mary, will be on me, and — and — " The poor fellow stopped, and the girl broke in, passionately, "But let me go with you, Jim, — any- where — everywhere. Let me go with my own Jim." "What?" replied the other, "to prison, lassie ! Nay, 'tis no place for your pretty face." " To prison, Jim !" she answered, very slowly; " but 'twill be," she contmued in a lighter tone, "but for a short time, — and then ye will give over this poaching, Jim ; for my sake yer will?" But Jim did not answer her immediately ; he pulled up two or three tufts of grass, and then plucked them to pieces blade by blade. shot! 149 "Maiy/' lie said at last, "mindest the gentleman I was talking to to-day ?'' '* What, he who rode the black horse, Jim, and wanted brandy and water?" '' Yes ! yes ! d'ye know his name, Mary ?" "No, not I/' '"Twas Captain Lawless, Mary, the squire of Sturdith, yonder." " What, — where you got me the young woodpigeon?" ''Yes, Mary; d'ye think ye'd remember him?" '' Law, Jim, 'twould be hard to forget such a face as his. There he sat, as gliim as the parson on Sunday, and after all, he hadn't even broken the horse's knees." ''Then listen, Mary. If an}/ thing were to happen to me, — suppose I were tG go away and leave you, or was in trouble, — very great trouble. You must go to Captain Lawless, and tell him who you are and what you are to me." 150 shot! " But you're not going away, Jim." " Faith, Mary," he replied, trying to look gay, " there can be no harm in supposing ; but remember 'tis Captain Lawless who you must go to if you ever want help.'' " Lawks ! Jim; but now he didn't look the kind of gentleman to do much for a poor girl like me." " Ah ! but he will, Mary ; but if I'm here ye shall not want his help, and if I'm not here — " He broke off in the middle of his sentence, and frowned *, then he said, '' but let's go back to the Swan, Mary, for I'm not going to leave my own Mary all day." And with his arm round her waist he led her back towards the Swan. He had proceeded some little distance towards the inn before he stopped again. But after a while he drew her gently from the road, drew her towards a quiet foot- path, where they had often rambled alone together. SHOT ! 151 He dropped his hand from her waist, and walked on by her side, with his eyes bent on the ground. For more than a hundred yards no word passed between them. But, after a few minutes, he raised his eyes, not to her; before he had turned them towards her they were arrested by another object. A hawk poised in the air, in quest of prey ! A strange object to arrest a lover's atten- tion. But then this fellow was a poacher ; and his ideas, so it seemed from the remarks which had fallen from him, had been dwel- ling on poaching, and what is a hawk but a poacher ? Besides, too, there is no feeling so deeply imbedded in our nature, — or I might even say in animal nature, — as a love of the chase. There is an excitement, deny it though you may, in watching the habits of any beast of prey. We have got over now, at least in England, and I thank heaven for it! the means with which human nature in former 152 shot! ages indulged itself in this respect. We have passed for ever the days when wild beasts were let loose in the amphitheatre to fight with men even wilder than themselves ; or a bull was goaded to madness to satiate the gaze of the spectators of his fury. But though the practice may be altered, nature is still the same. Who, as a boy, or perhaps even later in life, has not matched a terrier to kill rats against time ? The strange thing too is that, on these occasions, the sympathy is always on the strongest side. Whoever thought of wishing that a rat might escape? We admire the skill of the terrier, as we do the eagle-eye and fell swoop of the hawk ; and our sympathy is with the oppressor, not with the oppressed. Jim laid his hand on Mary's arm, and pointed to the hawk. He said nothing for a few moments, but stood intently watching the bird, then he said, ^' If I'd my gun, Mary—" SHOT ! 153 " You might do worse, Jim, than shoot the hawk." " What, lassie, you think that if I gave the keeper so good a turn, I should be entitled to a few pheasants for my pains/' '' Ah ! Jim, I wish you'd no gun at all. I wouldn't mind letting the poor hawk live." '• He's gone for this time, at any rate, lassie," for the hawk, perhaps on hearing their voices, flew away. " But," he continued, and then again paused. " Ah see, Mary, there's the bird he was after," for a blackbird, starting from a hedge, flew hastily away, " safe out of yon fellow's clutches this time." '' Poor little thing ! " said Mary. " x^h ! poor little thing!" replied her lover. " I'm right down glad you're safe. It seems to rae, ^lary," and here again he paused, and repeated, in a lower tone, " Tt seems to me that that blackbird got away to comfort me like, and that perhaps I shall be able to get away too out of their clutches." H 5 154 SHOT ! " Jim ! " said Maiy, and slie laid her hand on her lover's arm, " Jim, dear Jim, what is it ? why won't you tell your own Mary ? What is it that makes you so afraid to-day of prison. You never were afraid before. Not even when you were taken by Lord Deymont's keeper. Tell your own Mary, Jim, what is it you are afraid of now." '^ Nothing, lassie," said the other, in a tone that contradicted the very terms of the speech. '' Nothing, lassie, — wear a stout heart ; the blackbird got away." "Why won't you give up this poaching llle, Jim ? You told me to go to Captain Lawless if I wanted anything. Why don't you go to him and get him to give you honest work?" " I hate their work," said the other. " Why shouldn't I shoot a pheasant as much as Lord Deymont or any of these squires hire ? 'Tis but a bird, and no more his than mine or y ours. No more his than that black- SHOT ! 155 bird that got away from tlie liawk that tried to catch him. I'm glad he didn't, lassie." "' But, Jim, the laws give it them ; and it must be right, or why should the laws give it them ?" '' The lav/s, Mary ; they make their laws themselves, and they make them to stamp on us poor country folks. What right have the laws to say that a pheasant is Lord Deymont's? Suppose the pheasant flies over to Squire Harborough's — it's Squire Harborough's, and if it flies over to this common, which is still left to the poor, why isn't it the first poor man's that can kill it?" It was an argument that had puzzled wiser heads than Mary's. So she contented herself with doing what wiser people very often do, with shifting her ground to another where she felt safer. '^ But, Jim, you know," she said, '' you don't kill the game on ihis common. Per- haps you may be right here. But why do 156 shot! you go inside' the fence on to Lord Deymont's ground ?'' " What right have people to land, lassie ? God gave the land to us all, not all of it to Lord Deymont. What right has he to put Tip a fence, and call all inside it his?" '' What right, Jim ? Why if we could turn him out of Deymont Park, any country fellow could turn my poor old father out of the ' Swan.' Think Jim,of the old man, he has lived in the dear old place all his life, and it would break his heart it he had to leave it now." Jim felt uncomfortable ; he could not answer such an argument in the mouth of his heart's choice, so he followed Mary's tactics and sjjifred his ground. '' Well, lassie, may be a man's house is a man's house, but that doesn't make the wild birds his. When they go out hunting, they follow the fox out of one man's ground into another's, and no one says them nay. What's shot! 157 the difference between a fox and a pheasant that the rich man may kill one on another man's ground, and that it's poaching if a poor man kills the other ; aye, for the matter of that, on his own gromid — if he has any?" Mary looked up at Jim's handsome face. Perhaps after all, the love of the chase which she had, in common with all, made her more than half-sympathise with him. Per- haps she was more afraid of the consequences than annoyed at the lawlessness of her lover's poaching ; or perhaps, and this is more probable, she was simply unable, poor, ignorant country maid that she was, to answer her Itover's last argument. But she looked at Jim's face, and dropping all argument, save the strongest of all a woman's one, she said, ^' Jim, darling, you will give up poaching for my sake?" Her hand dropped into his; a tear .tood in her eye ; and — FeUowman ! didst ever see a fair young 158 shot! girl, tliine own heart's love, pleading her cause, her hand in thine, and a tear swim- ming in her bright blue eye, and didst refuse her prayer ? I think not* or, if thou didst, I think thee all unworthy of thy petitioner. For if I am right, she would not ask thee, were she not sure of thy love. And he who loves and can say nay to his true-love's tear ' — and he who cannot love — well, commend me to poor untutored faithful Jim ! Pie stood for some moments by her side without replying ; and, in those moments, you could have noticed an entire change in his countenance. The thoughts which a hawk had given rise to, had driven him hastily and perhaps unintentionally to defend his former practice; the low voice of his lover had re- called him to better things. And, after a few moments' pause, he drew her gently to- wards him, and kissing her cheek, dimpled already with the smile that greeted one more victory, SHOT ! 159 "Lassie," he said, "I promise thee I'll never poach no more." I know that the sentence, if it is exposed to rigid criticism, breaks down ; that a double negative makes an affirmative, and that Jim might have gone poaching again without breaking the letter of his promise. What matters it? 'Twas the promise of the lip pressing her own happy cheek, not the pro- mise that came from it in the shape of words that Mary trusted, and she knew that he whose arm was round her waist had never deceived her. She did not thank him for his promise. She did not, with words at least, express her tlianks. Yet, my reader, hadst thou been present, thou might'st have learned a lesson in the language of the eye. Again Jim paused, and once again he picked a stick up from the ground, and broke it in his hands. 160 shot! " Lassie/^ lie said, at last, '' ye believe my promise, don't ye?" "Jim!'' she replied, half-reprovingly, "rae to doubt ye, Jim ?" " I knew it, — I knew it," he said, '' ye'd trust me ever, and — and — " '' And what, Jim ?" " And though I may have broken their laws and shot their game, ye don't think I'd do worse, lassie?" " Worse, Jim ?" '' If they were to tell thee that Pd been— been — if I'd done wrong to anyone, ye'd not believe them, lassie?" " Ne'er a word, Jim, ne'er a word." ^' They may say what they like of me ; and shut me from the bright sun, and send me — yes, send me far from you. But I didn't do it. I didn't do it, and if you don't believe them, lassie, I can bear it all." shot! 161 CHAPTER XL Hark back ! hark back ! Lawless has out- ridden hounds, scent, and alL So try back, gentle reader ; we must run with the rest of the pack. Have you ever stayed at a large country house, where the gentlemen were shooting the home coverts, and keepers, dogs, and beaters assembled after breakfast, in front of the entrance hall ? I know of no prettier picture than the sturdy fellows in their neat blue smocks, with their strong- ashen sticks, waiting for the gentlemen. Probably, five or six couple of clumbers, 162 shot! sniffing and restless, all impatient to begin ; while the glorious retriever, who has grown old and deaf in long faithful service, reclines peaceably at the keeper s heels. The latter, probably, has a gun under each arm, and possibly, another in each hand, and is got up (of course) in brown velveteen, with cord knee-breeches and gaiters, and a black wide-awake and cotton tie, — to my mind, the beau ideal of a good working dress. Warleigh, Lord Deymont's keeper, had grown somewhat aged in service ; but the sixty and odd summers that he had seen sate as lightly on the old man as thirty short years do on many a young one, for like Adam, in his yoath, he "never did apply hot and re- bellious liquors to his blood," and, therefore, old age had come upon him '' frosty, but kindly." Poor Warleigh used to say that he had seen Lord Deymont draw his first blood, as a boy of thirteen. It may have been quite SHOT ! 163 true, though I do not think that his case was " quite proven." But whether it was he who had instructed the young idea, in our father's time, to shoot, or no, there could be no doubt that, a generation later, it was Warleigh who had first taken Lord Sturdith out with him, who had praised him when he shot well, sighed when he missed the bird; that it was Warleigh whom Sturdith had loved to run off to when he had come home from his holidays, and wander with through the woods, per- chance to see a hawk or to hear an owl ; or wait at sundown and watch the ' cocks ' as they came flapping along the rides, and won- der whether it was as hard as he heard people say to bring them down ; it was War- leigh who had initiated him into all the mysteries of ferrets; it was Warleigh who had taught him to set a snare ; in a word, Warleigh he regarded almost as a father. Had Warleigh's heart been probed, I think 164 shot! that I should have found that he regarded Lord Sturdith almost as a son. When Lord Deymont, Sir Anthony, and Guy came out, Warleigh took off his hat, and, bowing in a manner that would not have disgraced a courtier, wished them all " Good morning." " Good morning, Warleigh," they all three answered. " We have a fine day, indeed," continued Lo^'l Deymont ; '' are you ready ?" " Aye, my lord, we've all been ready here these last fifteen minutes. I beg pardon, will Lord Sturdith and Captain Lawless follow us?" " Lord Sturdith is out, Warleigh ; but I've left word for him to follow us as soon as he comes in. I am sorry to say that Captain Lawless is obliged to ride over to Sturdith, so that we shall not have his help." "That's a pity," said the old keeper, regretfully ; " we shall be few enough guns for Hilton Wood." SHOT ! 165 " Well, we must do our best, Warleigh. Sir Anthony has brought down some wonder- fully straight powder from London.'^ " Not much fault to find with Sir Anthony's powder generally, my lord ;'^ and the old man touched his hat again. " Well, forward's the word. Hector, old fellow, how are you, boy ?" and his lordship gave the old retriever an affectionate pull of the ear, and the old dog looked up, and wagged his tail, in honest, hearty welcome. '' We'd better not go to Hilton Wood, I think, till late," said the old keeper. " Harry, lad, just you run down, and rap at the gate close to the pond. You see, my lord, if we take Cerard's copse first, and then beat through the long plantation, we may pick up an outlying pheasant or two in the open. Then, if we have time, we could take Stickle copse in our way; and we shall be driving everything before us to Hilton Wood." "Aye, and keep that for the last?" 166 SHOT ! " Yes, my lord ; besides, then Lord Stur- dith will have had more time to catch us ; and we shall want guns sadly, in Hilton Wood." "Leave Warleigh to take good care of Sturdith," whispered Sir Anthony to Guy. "Ah, yes, indeed,'^ was the answer. "I believe that Warleigh would think it a capital crime to shoot the best beat without the young lord. He dotes upon Sturdith as much as the rest of us.'' " If that's the case, Guy, I should think til at we shall have to postpone Hilton Wood. There isn't much chance of your sister let- ting Sturdith leave her to-day. eh?" " Oh, I don't know," said Guy, laughing; " they must come in for breakfast at last, and then Aunt Deymont will pack him off." They had walked on, by this time, a good way from the rest, so that Sir Anthony could say, without anyone else hearing him, "Was there anything ever between your shot! 167 sister and Lawless? You know we old fellows are privileged to ask questions/' "Never, that I know of; and I don't think that Marion ever keeps anything from me.'' " You may be quite sure that Lawless was in love with her. I watched him pretty closely last night, at Hicklebury. And small blame to him, for she is a rare pretty girl." The old fellow had been watching Lawless, for he had hoped all night to see him pay a little more attention to his own daughter. "Oh, I think that Lawless did admire Marion ; he seemed out of sorts last night, and perhaps that had something to do with it;" and the conversation dropped. I am not going to inflict upon my readers a long description of a good day's shooting. It has been told over and over again before now; and far better told than I could tell it. There were lots of pheasants in Gerard's copse. Guy missed four rocketers in succession ; but then he made a magni- 168 shot! ficient shot at a cock, whicli they had all missed, and he got a crack at with his second barrel, ninety paces off. Sir Anthony's two guns were hard at it all the time, rolling over rabbits as they darted across the little ride he was walking in. He was a dead shot at a rabbit, was Sir Anthony. For the mat- ter of that, they all did their duty pretty well, for, when they laid the game down, out- side Gerard's copse, and counted it over, they found two woodcocks, twenty-three pheasants (five of these were hens), two par- tridges (Sir Anthony had rolled these over — a long right and left shot), — they had got up very wild ; four hares, and sixteen rab- bits. Now, in my opinion, that's quite enough for three guns, in a short hour-and-a- half; and to say the truth, they were all tolerably contented. Then they walked through the little bit of open. It was rough grass land, with feru and hazel growing on it. How the clumbers SHOT ! 169 enjoyed it, darting into a small fern covert, driving out of it half-a-dozen rabbits, and seeing them roll, poonlittle things, head over heels ; but they (not the clumbers, nor the rabbits) didn't take long there ; and then they all sat down by a great six -barred gate, that was always locked, except when the hounds were there ; and then Warleigh brought out of the pony-cart, which had been sent to bring back the game, some wine, and some whisky, and some beer and some sandwiches, and some great hunches of bread and cheese for the beaters ; and though the gentlemen could not eat, for they had only just breakfasted, they waited a good half hour, for, you know, it was the beaters' din- ner time ; and Lord Deymont, trust him, he never forgot his men. Sir Anthony smoked a weed ; he offered Guy one. I am afraid that you will think I have painted Guy as a most degenerate VOL. I. I 170 shot! scion of the Deymonts ; but I must tell the truth — Guy did not smoke. So Sir Anthony had to blow a cloud by himself. " That was a queer story, Lord Deymont,'' said Sir Anthony, between the puffs of his ci^ar, "that you told us at dinner yesterday." "It is a queer story ; but all ghost stories are queer, and, for my part, though my own house is haunted, I don't believe in any of them." " Nor I either 5 but still it is strange that they should be credited by so many sensible people. Is this story at Deymont well sub- stantiated now ?" " They thought so at the time, I believe ; but the ghost has so seldom appeared of late years, that it is almost forgotten." " Who is supposed to have seen it last?" " I have been thinking over that since last night at dinner. It was my old housekeeper. Soon after I married Lady Deymont, just shot! 171 about the time that Sturdith was bom ; and Lady Deymout and I were abroad, so I know the date exactly." Sir Anthony gave another puff, and taking the cigar out of his mouth, said^ " Tell us about it/' " The ghost hadn't been seen for years, and the old woman was sleeping in the haunted room, when in the middle of the night, just as the clock struck twelve, she woke up, and there she saw a lady, dressed much as the picture in Lawless' room is dressed, but paler and with flecks of blood on her face and clothes. Of course my poor old housekeeper was frightened out of wits ; but she declares that the figure raising its forefinger said, ' hark !' and that the stable clock, though it had only just struck twelve, chimed nine ; and, when it had finished, the figure spoke again in some such words as these — ' <^nly twice more : once to warn, once to punish ; and then I sleep for ever !' " I 2 172 SHOT ! "It's a queer story,'' said Sir Anthony, " What d'you think of it?" " Think ! why I think that my old house- keeper had eaten something that disagreed with her, and that she woke up, — it was a bright moonlight night, — and that her eyes rested on the ghost's picture I told you of. The rest I set down as imagination." " I heard a most curious story the other day, apropos of ghosts," said Guy. " But it's almost too long to tell now." " Let's have it," said Lord Deymont, " I like the beaters to have a good hour for their dinner, and it will give Sturdith more time to catch us." " Very well, in that case we shall have time for my story. About fifty miles from Lon- don" — Bless thee, man, if you're good for an hour, I'd better begin another chapter. SHOT ! 173 CHAPTER XII. '• About fifty miles from London, a little way ofPtlie high road, stands Keston Manor House. An old red-brick building, with a long avenue of larches leading up the front door. I never saw — for I ought to tell you that I have seen the house as I learned this story when I was down in those parts on circuit, and in- deed, was in court when the case which I am going to tell you of was tried — I never saw a house neglected, so literally tumbling to pieces as the old Manor House of the Keston's. You could hardly see where the road between the larches had once been, so over-grown was 174 shot! it with grass. The oak fence would have hardly kept a cat out, it was so rotten ; and it was so absolutely impossible to tell where the lawn had once ended, and the field com- menced. '-'' Squire Keston, who lived in it — and lived in it all alone — had never been seen outside his gates smce he had returned there, thirty years before, after his father's death. One old woman, the village postman's wife, used to go there every day to cook his dinner, and put his things tolerably in order. No one else — not even the clergyman — was ever allowed to go into his room. " And there never were, from what this old woman told me, two more uncomfortable rooms than those which the squire inhabited. The furniture was very old, and of the plainest description; there were no carpets, no curtains, the old man had not even a dozen books to pass the time with. Yet he wasn't poor. The rent roll of Keston shotI 175 was at least two thousand pounds a year, and, what jou will think still stranger, this old man was iji his youth the most popular fellow in the whole county. " Fort J years before, he had fallen in love." "Ah," said Sir Anthony, knocking the ashes off his cigar, " I felt sure that love was at the bottom of it.'^ Guy laughed, but he went on. '•'• He had fallen in love with a governess — a very pretty girl, but a governess. His mother. Lady Maria, — as proud a woman as ever lived, — would not hear of her son's marriage with a governess. She swayed his father; Keston could not afford to marry without his father's assistance, so he gave in, and the governess died. " Lady Maria, seeing her son going about much as before his attachment, had fancied that he would soon get over it; but the governess, as I said, died. The day after her 176 shot! funeral Keston left England, and never re- turned until after liis mother's death. " I am told that, when Lady Maria lay on -what she knew was her death-bed, she sent the most pitiful letters to her son, begging him to return and imploring him to forgive her before she died. T am told too that Keston wrote back, — 'I swore over 7^e?' grave never to forgive you, and by the eternal Heaven, I never will !' " I only mention this horrid story to show 3'ou what sort of a person Keston was. After his mother's death he returned home, and lived the solitary life I have described. '' The village postman, — husband to the old woman whom I have mentioned before, — had to pass Keston's house every evening in his walk from the Crowgate post-of&ce. This man had lived with the squire before the latter' s affair with the governess; and, being in those days a light weight, had generally ridden his second horse for him out hunting. shot! 177 Even after Keston returned, lie never missed defending liis old master. ' Ah,' was his favourite story, — 'you should have seen him, as I did, near Cranbury brook the famous morn- ing when the hounds met at the gorse bushes, — and not a man, and small blame to them either, for no one has cleared it since, — dared follow him. •' One evening, this old man was walking, as usual, from Crowgate home, when he met, so he told his wife, the squire getting over the park pailings, just at the spot at which the road is loneliest. ' Eichard, ' it seems, was ' himself again,' for he looked as young as he had been forty years before, and wore just the same expression, so the postman de- clared, as on the morning when he had cleared Cranbury brook. " The old woman suspected, at first, that her husband was drunk ; but, nevertheless, she was uneasy when she went to the house the next morning. She had good cause to be so, I 5 178 shot! for she found the squire hanging by the neck — dead. " Of course there was an inquest. It seemed that the okl man, after tying a rope to a beam in the ceiling, had stood on a chair, which, after adjusting the rope, he had kicked from under him. " Not a thing had been moved in the room. Some money lying loose on the table had not been touched. The jury gave it suicide ; and the postman swore that his old master's ghost had appeared to him. '• The squire was dead — long live the squire ! The new one was a captain in a cavalry regiment. He had gone into the cavalry, fancying that his uncle would be sure to make him a handsome allowance; but he never wrung a sixpence out of his strange old recluse of an uncle. It wasn't for want of applying to the latter, though. The result was debt ; and, a few months before his uncle's death, a flight to Paris, to avoid his creditors. SHOT ! 179 N* " I suppose he thought that the good people of Keston had had enough of a resident squh'e, for he answered his solicitor's letter, telling him of his uncle's death, by sending them a list of debts that he desired might be paid, and by saying that he intended to set out for the east at once, and that he should not be home for some time. *' In fact, he sold his commission, and never returned home for two years and more. Even then he did not go down to Keston, but, meet- ing a friend — an oflacer in his old regiment — . in London, was carried off by him, though it was a very difficult task to persuade him to go, to his father's house in Leicestershire. "Frobisher — this was his friend's name — had one sister, — a very pretty girl, rather fast, I suspect, and perhaps, too fond, for a lady of hunting. She was engaged to a near neigh- bour of her father's — a man named Vernon — a country gentleman, but not, I think, a very pleasing fellow. However, perhaps it is 180 shot! prejudice on my part to say so ; at any rate, lie was staying at tlie Frobisliers, and all went sv^immingly for some ten days. " Keston had bought two magnificent horses, both of them well up to weight, — and the morning after they had been sent down to Leicestershire, he had taken Miss Frobisher to the stables to see them. " Nothing would please the girl, after she had seen them, but to ride the mare, the lightest of the two ; and, to cut a long story short, it was decided that she should ride it two days afterwards. "That day they had a magnificent run. Miss Frobisher and Vernon, who was always well mounted, rode side by side. Thirty minutes without a check over a grass country, — and thirteen stone pounded Vernon's horse, and he called to Miss Frobisher to stop. ' Not while the hounds arc running,' she answered, looking back at her lover; he as he turned his horse's head homewards, saw Keston, who shot! 181 had been riding judiciously all day, join Miss Frobisiier. " The result of course was that Keston and Miss Frobisher finished the run together; and rode home twenty miles side by side after- wards. '^It seems, — as far as I can make the story out, — that Keston on his way home asked Miss Frobisher to give him her right glove as a remembrance of the ride. She laughed, and refused to do so without Vernon's leave ; Keston, who was as cool as a cucumber, offered to bet her a diamond necklace to a kiss, that Vernon gave it to him himself that very evening, and she took the bet. '' She ought to have been ashamed of her- self, then," said Sir Anthony. " She deserved to lose." "And she did lose," said Guy, laughing. '' xVt dinner Keston asked, turning to Ver- non, the rule in betting, if the horse didn't win, but made a dead heat of it ? 182 SHOT ! U 4 Don't you know that,' was tlie answer, 'put the odds together, and divide. But why?' "' Because I laid Miss Frobisher to-day my black horse against the gloves she wore that I beat her across the last fence, and we made a dead heat of it. Now, it's impossible to divide the horse, so I give up my share to Miss Frobisher; but it's quite clear that we each take one glove; I think I should like the right one, — that's all right, isn't it, Vernon ?' " ' Certainly,' was the answer of the unsus- pecting Vernon. " The next morning Miss Frobisher over- took Keston who was walking alone in the long plantation, and held out the glove to him. '"I'd half a mind to tell all,' she said, as she did so. " I suppose that Keston would have been « more than mortal, if he had not claimed pay- ment of his real bet. But as ill luck would shot! 183 have it, at that very moment, Vernon turned a corner and met them face to face. '' Of course, there was an awful row, and though, to do him justice, Keston tried to avoid it, there was a fight, and Vernon got terribly the worst of it — " '' The man in the right always does," inter- rupted Sir Anthony. '' Well, he did this time,'' said Guy; " and Keston and Miss Frobisher ran away that evening. "I know that this doesn't seem to have much to do with my ghost story ; but T wanted to show you that Vernon had not mucli reason to feel kindly for Keston. ^^ The Kestons — for he married her at once — stayed abroad a year, and then for the first time he went not to the Manor House, but to a cottage not many miles from it. ''• Mrs. Keston was unwell, and Keston went out hunting alone. '' Now it so happened, by one of those 184 SHOT ! strange coincidences which so often occur, that Vernon, was staying in the very parish of Keston, with his uncle, the rector of the parish ; and that he was also out hunting ; and that the hounds drew the very gorse close to Cranbury brook, where squire Kes- ton had made his famous leap, forty years before. "At dinner, in the evening, Vernon began an account of the day but, the very moment he mentioned this ^orse, the rector inter- rupted him, and began the long story, which I have already told you, about the squire's leap — life and death — and ghost ; and he had hardly finished before the postman, the man who had seen the ghost, asked to see him. " The rector was happy to cap his story by introducing the postman. The latter, when he came in, was so dazed, that he could not tell his story for some minutes. Then it seemed that that very morning, hearing that the hounds met at the gorse bushes, and SHOT ! 185 being forced on business to go in that di- rection, he had struck across a few fields, and had just reached Cranbury brook, when he heard the hounds coming towards him. They streamed over the hill with a breast high scent, and raced down towards the brook. Not a man was within a field of them ; and one and all, they reined up their horses and turned away ; but before the whole field came the squire's ghost, mounted on his old black mare, and cleareditat the very spot that he had cleared it at forty years before. '' Vernon listened to the old story, and, at its conclusion said, very quietly, ' Well, at any rate, it was no ghost this time, but veri- table flesh and blood — young Mr. Keston. Old Squire Keston' s heir was out this morn- ing, and I saw him clear Cranbury brook with my own eyes." The old postman rubbed his head. Th' young squire !' he said, at last. a c 186 shot! ' Couldst 'a been i'Keston o' the night o' th' oulcl squire's death?' ^'It was the very question that had occurred to Vernon, and to such good purpose that, improbable though it may seem, within a fortnight he managed to have Keston arrested for his uncle's murder. " I heard the case tried myself, when I was on circuit. '' Almost the only new fact which was brought out was that the rope which Mr. Keston had hung himself with was a ne^v one ! A new rope was a curious article in that house. "But some curious facts were brought out about the prisoner. "It seems that, on the evening after the squire's death, Frobisher, the same fellow whose sister Keston afterwards married, was playing whist in his rooms at Paris, with Keston and two others. In the middle of SHOT ! 187 the game an old friend broke in upon them, and accused Keston of having bolted the eveniug before with a certain danseuse, and insisted on knowing where the girl was. He was certain that she had bolted with Keston, because he had ascertained that the latter had spent the previous evening away from his hotel. Keston flatly declined to give any information as to the girl's whereabouts, im- plying that he knew them himself; and the result was a duel — not resulting in a mishap however — as the principals were separated after one round, in which Keston had declined to return his adversary's fire. Now Keston's counsel argued that had he not really bolted with the girl, he would never have accepted a cballeuge on her account. But it was urged on the other side — and it seemed to me with great force — that had he been in England on the previous evening, and anxious to con- ceal the fact, he could hardly have adopted a surer mode than by risking his life in a cause 188 shot! which implied that he had been actually in or near Paris; and, if this supposition was correct, the very fact of his having risked his life showed that he feared the very worst, if his having been in England came to be known. " The jury acquitted the prisoner, and I don't think that they could have done otherwise ; for even if it had been proved that he had been with his uncle that evening, there was positively no proof that his uncle had been murdered. " But they acquitted the prisoner the more readily because they didn't seem to relish the manifest share which Vernon had had in getting up the case. But it struck me as a very singular story, because if he was not in England, then — ^' SHOT ! 189 CHAPTEE XIII. " If you please, my lord," said Warleigh, tducMng his hat. "We're quite ready to begin— leastways, if as Lord Sturdith has not come, you think right to shoot the wood to- day?" " To-day, Warleigh. Yes, we'll shoo t it to- day. Mr. Guy's been spinning us such a long yam that we've been longer than we ought to have been over our luncheon. Forward's the word. Forward !" "Amen," said Sir Anthony, looking at his watch. " Half-past two, Guy ; if I've no time 190 shot! to wipe your eye on the ghost's seat, it is your fault, for your story." " One moment, Tyler," said his lordship, "let's have Warleigh's orders," — and these were the orders. They were all to walk, for a hundred yards, down a drive that ran right through the w^ood. Then they would find two smaller paths branching out on either hand ; one of these Lord Deymont was to take, the other Guy. Old Sir Anthony was to keep in the middle all the time. Warleigh placed the beaters, and then came on with the guns himself — he had old Hector with him, in a leash, and he was coming on, quickly. " Well done, sir ! well done, indeed !" as Sir Anthony rolled a rabbit over, as it was crossing the ride, forty yards in front of him, " he won't move till we come up. Down, Hector, down ! Ready, gentlemen ? That will be your path, Mr. Guy," he added, pointing with his whip to a little path on the shot! 191 right. "Pheasant, sir, pheasant !^^ as a glorious old cock bird came crowing and chuckling over from the left. Guy happened to be a little in front of them. It was a hard, long shot, and he followed up the bird a mo- ment before he pulled ; and then, as the smoke cleared off, he saw the noble fellow coming down, and heard Warleigh saying, " Not so bad, Mr. Guy, not so bad ; but you were a little behind him. Lord, how that bird will run !" "Let's try and get him at once— here, Hector !'' and Lord Deymont called to War- leigh to loose the dog. " Ye'd better wait till we get up to him, my lord," remonstrated the keeper. "No! no! try at once. Good dog. Hec- tor!'' and Hector bounded off, with his head up ; he had marked right well the spot where the bird had fallen. Now be it observed that Lord Deymont was utterly and entirely wrong to send a retriever into a new beat after a wounded bird ; 192 SHOT ! but, then, Lord Deymont was one of tliose men, who, contrary to all duly orthodox be- lief, would rather have brought home one bird which had shown him a little sport than fifty which he had shot down like chickens in a corner. Moreover be it known that this nobleman's most heterodox idea of sport was " seeing dogs work," and I heard him say once that he'd rather walk through a turnip field with a couple of good setters without a gun than he would walk through the same field with the best beaters in Christendom, and with the best gun Westley Eichards ever made. I felt that it was necessary in these days of breechloaders and wholesale slaughter to apologize for the old earl. But to return to facts. Hector sprang off after the wounded bird, and dashed along the ride to the spot where they had seen it fall. They watched him folloAV it up at a somewhat steadier pace, and Warleigh began, SHOT ! 193 " Hector '11 have him, my lord ; look how the old dog works,— I never knew him lose a bird yet. Halloa ! what's the matter with the dog? Here, Hector ! Hector!" And he might well call, for the dog had done his best to belie his reputation. He bad stopped short, — stopped while he was hunting the bird, with his nose well down, thrown his head up in the air, howled as if he had been flogged, and darted down another ride to the left. Warleigh called, whistled, scolded, cracked his whip, — but no Hector. Now, to those degenerate beings, who love like Lord Dey- mont to see their dogs work, nothing is so vexatious as an unruly dog ; and Lord Dey- mont, with something almost approaching, I am afraid, to an oath, seized the whip from his keeper's hand, and, bidding them all stay where they were, dashed off at his best pace, — and not a bad one too for sixty, — after the poor retriever. VOL. I. K 194 SHOT ! They watched him, all but poor Warleigh, half amused at his earnestness; Warleigh, I suspect, would have gladly gone himself, and I believe would have liked to have shot Hector then and there for so disgracing his breed and his trainer. They watched then the old lord jog on till he had reached the path down which the dog had turned, — they saw him raise his whip, and heard him shout " Hec — ," but the last syllable died away into a faint cry, and the poor old Earl fell forward on his face, and lay motionless on the cold, hard ground. They hardly had time — Sir Anthony and Warleigh — to realise all this before Guy had sprung ofiF and had got half way to the earl. They saw him rush on, and apparently begin to bend over his uncle's body, and then, with a cry and a spring, dash down the path which Hector had taken. Have you ever, in the midst of the daily routine of your life, or, in the commonest avo- SHOT ! 195 cations of business or pleasure, met death, face to face ? There are moments when we are so prepared for his coming that his visit is robbed of half its terrors ; there are others when it is so unexpected that it reads a more speaking lesson than the most eloquent sermon. Think of the strong man who goes forth in the morning to win his daily bread, — falls from a scaffold, — and before eventide is carried home a lifeless corpse. Think of the holiday-seeker who, with no other thought than pleasure, takes his seat in the excursion train, and dies, before an hour is over, the most fearful of all deaths. The weak woman at his side escapes, and all the reasoning power of the world cannot say why, — can give no better reason than the ful- filment of the old prophecy — ' ' One shall be taken and the other left.'' If thou hast had acquaintance with such, things as these. If thou has reasoned on tbem, then thou mayest understand the scene which the others when they came up K 2 196 shot! — half a minute later — had to witness; — Guy was bending down over the body of one, whom they all recognised at once. Despite the horrid, ghastly pallor that had settled on her lovely face, — despite the swoon which had driven the blood from her lips, — and despite the fearful traces of blood that were spattered here and there upon her, they would have been dullards indeed had they failed to recognise Marion Deymont. Not dead ! Guy thanked God for that ; for she breathed, and was warm, — nay, more, it was easy to see that it was not her blood that de- filed her so foully. No ! no ! it is his, — it is his. Look under that lock of hair which, clotted with blood, draggles heavily on his forehead ; there is an ugly wound there which accounts for all this sorrow. Poor Sturdith ! and is it all gone, — all? — is thy last sigh breathed, thy last word spoken? — are they all too late? — is there nothing left for them ? — is this shot! 197 youth ?— -is this love ? — is this hope ? Heaven! Heaven! was there no one weary of this world that thou must seize upon him ? That tableau, so sad, so still, so solemn, let me try and paint it before I take you away. One venerable oak, which century after century had nurtured and increased, flung its noble branches over the broad green- sward on which this sad scene was being played, — Guy was supporting his sister's senseless form in his arms, and tenderly smoothing her rough, frightened hair, and wiping off, so far as he was able, the tell-tale stains that were spattered upon her. Poor girl I even in her swoon she held her lover's hand, — his dying grip had stiffened round her palm. It seemed as if even death was powerless to separate them. Poor old War- leigh was gazing ;with wonder and fear, bent over the corpse, on the ghastly wound which had caused Lord Sturdith's death. There WaS a tear in the old man's eye, — and he wastryino- 19S shot! to compose tlie features of him whom he had so loved to serve. For the agonies of a violent death, had left their print indelibly marked on the dead man's visage. Still Warleigh was not so unpractical as the rest, — he was think- ing all the time how this had come to be. Aye, how this had come to be ? Who could have been so cruel as to murder love in his love's arms ? — who could have been so cruel as to kill the bright, gay young lord? — the lord they all loved, the lord they all re- spected so dearly. Look at those poor rugged beaters, who have come up now and are standing round, — there is not one whose eye is not moist with tears — honest, honest tears; they may be weak, they may be womanly; never are they so holy as when they are wrung from a strong man's sorrow. And all this time they left the poor old earl lying there. This was so much worse, that they even had no thought for him, and the poor old man lay there in a fit on his face, — shot! 199 his gun which had dropped from his hands a few paces from him. So still, so silent was it all, that a rabbit had crept from her covert, and was cropping her frugal meal within a foot of Lord Dej- mont's gun. Poor little thing, it had sense, or instinct — or whatever the right word is, — enough to see that these men were not com- passing its death. And Hector ; — no. Hector never noticed the little rabbit, — he was lick- ing the dead, cold hand, perhaps wondering why there was no caress, no kind word in return. Of that sad group, it was Guy who first broke silence, '' Who shall tell all this to my aunt and Clementina ?" Yes, in their grief they had to remember those who would grieve still more, — the mother, the sister, — wondering perhaps why Sturditb and Marion had not returned. Guy 200 SHOT ! looked towards Sir Anthony, but Sir An- thony's eye fell. ^' I must go myself, I suppose,'^ the brave fellow added. It needed a braver heart, that errand, than to ride headlong into the cannon's mouth. But before he went he leant over Warleigh. " How could it have happened? None of our shot could have reached so far.'' '' Xo shot ever carried close enough to make that wound, Mr. Guy ;" and then the old man touched his arm, and whispered more than 6aid, '^ this is the ghost's seat, sir ; and there's foul work been done this morning before many of us were up." I really believe that G uy had been so occu- pied with his sister that he had fancied that some shot had found its way from their guns to this spot, — some fatal shot; but he shud- dered as "Warleigh said those words, and showed him the wound. SHOT ! 201 '^ Stay/' he cried ; " if that's the case let's watch the wood. Set men round at once, War- leigh." Warleigh shook his head, — '' The sun wasn't two hours old, sir, when this was done;" and he showed how Sturdith's arms, had stiffened in death. *' There may be traces, though ; take care that the men do not walk about and unwit- tingly destroy them. I must go," he sighed, " to my poor aunt. Sir Anthony," he added, coming back again, '' will you see to poor Lord Deymont, and have him and Marion carried to the house ? Let me be a clear half hour before you to get my aunt and cousin away from it all. You run down to the vil- la o;e and tell Dr. Evans that he must come im- mediately. Tell no one what has happened. Warleigh, let another of the men get some water and wash poor Lord Sturdith's face. Don't bring his body to the house, it can do no K 5 202 shot! good ; leave it for the present at one of tlie lodges/' He had given all these orders in as clear a tone of voice as if he had been o-ivinP' his di- rections for the commonest act of common life, and he had turned to go. Think him not hard-hearted. I admire nothing more than the strength of mind that can even quell grief, but the effort had been too much for him, strong as he was, and he turned again, — " Oh, my God ! oh, my God !" and flung himself into his senseless sister's arms. But it was but for a moment, and he only waited once again to stoop and loose his uncle's kerchief, and then hurried on towards the house upon as sad a mission as ever a strong Christian was yet called upon to fulfil. "- There goes Sir Anthony,"said Warleigh,as he watched Guy's hastily retiring figure, '' the kindest heart in all the county next to him," — SHOT ! 203 lie pointed to Lord Sturdith's corpse ; but even at such a moment, when the tears were running down the old fellow's cheeks, he could not help adding, " but he will never make much of a shot." 204 SHOT ! CHAPTER XIII. If you are tired witli my story you had better put it down now. You'll find nothing more to interest you, for I shall introduce you to no one new. All that follows hangs on what is past ; what is to come is but in explanation of that. And if, perchance, you think it an interest- ing story, hut spoilt by the telling of it, lay the book down now, and, when you happen to be alone out walking, or alone in the evening, make for yourself a sequel to the tale. Perhaps you may catch the murderer quicker than the police did, after all. SHOT ! 205 But if I have been so successful as to make the old lady who has a faint interest in the ghost's seat, or her pretty young niece, who has also a little interest in Guy and Cle- mentina ; or the said pretty niece's favourite partner, who perhaps has low taste enough to take an interest in Mary Powell, — if I have made any of these or anyone else wish to see how all this ends, then come along with me, for you won't get the true ending from anyone else. But if you are not interested and yet go on, it's your own fault and not mine, so don't blame me for wasting your time. I must take you back now to another scene in our history. It was just two o'clock. Lady Deymont, Lady Tyler, Miss Tyler, and Clementina were sitting in the drawing-room at Deymont, working. " Shall we say three fur the pony carriage, Lady Tyler?" asked Lady Deymont. 206 SHOT "Yes, I slioulcl think tliat will do very nicely. We are all tired, and shall not want a long drive/' So Lady Clementina rang the bell, and Lady Deymont ordered the carriage at three ; and then they all fell to work again. " It certainly was a capital ball," suggested Lady Tyler, looking up after a pause. "• Yes," said Lady Clementina, for the re- mark was addressed to her, and she saw that she was expected to answer it ; but then she blushed, for she remembered why she had thought it a capital ball, and so to seem at ease she added, " Didn't you think so, Constance ?" Poor Miss Tyler sighed, for she had not thought so ; but jihe answered, very quickly, if not very truthfully, '' Yes, it was a very good ball, indeed." Then they all fell to work again — stitch, stitch, stitch. For you must know that though it is quite true that ladies chatter SHOT ! 207 much more than men — they talk but little when there is a good wide gap of years between their ages ; their daughters' pre- sence kept the mothers from talking; the mothers were there, and the daughters were silent. Had Lady Deymont been alone with Lady Tyler, she would have rattled on a full baker's dozen to the hour. Had Miss Tyler and Lady Clementina been by themselves, they would have billed and cooed as two pretty, nice young girls can ; but, as it was, the conversation came by fits and starts, as I have endeavoured to reproduce it. '' I wonder whether Sturdith and Marion have come home yet," Lady Clementina began at last. '' Oh, of course they have," said Lady Dey- mont, " long before this." " They are much best left to themselves, and much happier," sympathised Lady Tyler. '* Oh, much," echoed her hostess. "I have 208 SHOT ! no doubt that they have gone out for a ride, or something of that sort." " How very nice and pretty she is/' " Yes, she is very nice and pretty." Lady Deymont gave something very like a sigh. She had certainlv had a wish that her son should make a little better match, and she let out her hopes and vanity too, by adding, " And, you know, after all Sturdith will have enough for both of them. We shall look to Clementina now to make the match." Lady Clementina knew very well what her mother meant by the match. So she only coloured up to her eyes, and said, '' Oh, mamma ! How can you ?'' and then went on stitch, stitch, stitch with her knitting; but she dropped a stitch, and had to pick it up, and picking up a stitch is very hard work for the eyes, so hard work that Lady Clementina's eyes grew quite wet ; but, then, it was some very fine knitting that she was working at. And Constance knew very well what Lady SHOT ! 209 Deymont meant by the match, and somehow or other it made her turn very pale, but she only went on stitch, stitch, stitch, faster than ever, — so fast that she pricked her finger with her worsted needle. Have you ever pricked your finger ? Yes, and you didn't cry. Well, at any rate, I am afraid that Miss Tyler's eyes were very moist indeed. And Lady Deymont thought, perhaps, that she had said a little too much, for she went on stitch, stitch, stitch, and did not look up again. And so there was no help for it, but Lady Tyler went on stitch, stitch, stitch, as fast as any of them. And they might have gone on, — I do not know for how long, — working like so many milliners, as all good ladies should, had not Lady Deymont looked up to rest her eyes — • for old eyes will not last as young ones — and said, " Constance, won't you play us something, dear T 210 shot! " Oh, do, Constance," chimed in Lady- Clementina; "or, no, — sing us that pretty song I heard you practising yesterday.'^ "I am in no voice, Clementina, to-day," — but still she got up and sat down at the piano and sang the following song : — Wander away, wander away, From the scenes where my childhood loved joyous to play ; Wander away, wander away, — For my own laddie calls me to come. So sister and brother, So father and mother, I must e'en leave my old, happy home. But whilst I'm away. My thoughts shall oft stray, From the joys that I have, to the pleasures gone ! gone ! And then they will roam To my old, happy home. As I sit in my chamber, alone ! alone ! As I sit in my chamber alone. So 'tis wander away, &c., &c.. And if in years after, I too have a daughter, — Whom I've loved to watch gambol and play, — I'll try and discover. For her a gay lover ; And bid them go wander away ! away ! And bid them go wander away. For 'tis wander away, &c., &c. " Thank you, Constance, thank you, Con- shot! 211 stance/' cried Lady Dejmontand Clementina too ; for poor though the words be, they are set to a pretty tune, and Constance Tyler has a sweet voice , but, as she sprung up, she said, ''Now, Clementina, it is your turn; so sit down, — I will fetch your music," and she laughingly caught up a portfolio. Lady Clementina turned over some dozen songs, and then she put them all from her. '' No, I will give you a new song, and you shall tell me what you think of it. But you must admire it, though, — at least the words, — for Sturdith wrote them for me." Peace ! whither, whither flittest thou away ? Oh ! stay. Though war may rage, and passion hold its sway. One maiden's heart to thee shall pray, And bid thee stay. Stay, for in safety here thou mayest remain ; Then stay. Stay and resume thy happy, happy reign. Nor bid me pray to thee again. And pray in vain. Stay, at my bidding, list to my request. And stay, From strife, from trouble far ! within my breast, Beloved and loving,' — blessing, blest. For ever rest ! 212 SHOT ! What, truant, wilt thou not accept my prayer ? Then go ! To happier realms, in joy, in hope, repair; And for my wearied soul prepare A refuge there ! The door opened while the last word still lingered on her voice ; the door opened before they had time to thank her for her song, and Guy Deymont entered the room. . '' Why, Guy," they all exclaimed at once, " so soon tired !" — and Clementina looked down and blushed ; perhaps it was natural that she should do so. " So soon tired,^' went on Lady Deymont ; "" you had better come out with us. Why, how grave you are ! Surely, nothing — " She gasped for breath, '' Nothing can have happened ?^* Guy had walked right up to where she was sitting, and his face was so grave that she might be well excused for the anxiety which her voice displayed. She had risen from her seat, and grasped Guy's arm ; but he had placed her softly back again, — all that he said was ^'my dear, dear aunt — " SHOT ! 213 " Guy, dear Guy, tell me ?" passionately broke in Lady Clementina. " You will know it all soon enough — it is bad, bad news." " Oh, I know there has been some dreadful accident," said poor Lady Deymont, wringing her hands, " I am sure of it ; some one has been shot. It may have been a beater, — say it was a beater ?" Guy only shook his head; he tried to speak, but the words stuck on the roof of his mouth — he could not; — he shook his head again. " Oh, it is your uncle. Is he much hurt ? tell me — speak. Pity, Guy, why don't you tell me?" There was a tear in Guy's clear, blue eye as he answered, " Dear, dear aunt. Uncle Deymont has not been hurt — no ! no ! Sir Anthony is quite well;" for Lady Tyler had started up. "There have been sad, sad doings." 214 shot! "Why," almost shrieked her ladyship, " there was no one else out shooting ! You are not hurt ; Lord Deymont is not hurt ;'* and she gasped for breath. Guy rather whispered, than uttered, the name of Sturdith. She glanced at him, with her eye-s bursting from their sockets, but free from tears. She laid her hand, her left hand, on his arm, and with her right she smoothed back the hair from her face. She almost looked a mad- woman at that moment, and she shrieked — a wild hysterical laugh, "Ha! ha! it camiot be. Sturdith did not go out shooting — no ! no ! it cannot be." She stopped quite suddenly, and was as calm as she had been wild. " Oh, heaven, it is ! it is !" She just raised her eyes to meet her nephew's. She saw no hope in the big tears that were rolling down his cheeks, and dropped fainting and unconscious into his arms. SHOT ! 215 Lady Clementina liad not sted a tear. Either tlie blow had been so sudden that it had lost all its power, or else the grief was so heavy that there was no tear to relieve it — I know not ; but it was Lady Clementina who busied herself most about her poor mother. It was Lady Clementina who rang the bell for the servants. It was Lady Clementina who gave all the directions, and it was not till she was alone with Guy, that she put her arm round his. " Dear, dear Guy, for heaven's sake tell me how all this happened?'' " No, no, darling," and he bent down and kissed her ; there was no warmth in her lips ; they were icy cold. '' Not now ; some other time.'' " Oh, I had so much rather know it all. Who did it? and, Guy—" "Well, dearest?" " Have you thought of your sister ?" She stopped, for she saw the tear in his eye. 216 SHOT ! "Yes, Clementina, poor Marion knew it first of all.'^ " Then — then, she was out shooting with you?" " No, no, pet, Sturdith wasn't out shooting ; we none of us know how it happened. You will know it all soon enough,' ' and he led her gently out of the room. " I have many things I must do, Clementina ; you had better go and stay with my poor aunt — she will want you." It was thus that the lovers separated on that unhappy morning. And in my judgment — though perhaps here my reader may differ from me — it was no slight merit in Lady Clementina that she consented to part thus. What reason was there, save her lover's will, that she should not know what had befallen her brother? Surely she had a right to insist on knowing all; — yet she resisted not her lover's un- willingness to tell her more ; and with a shot! 217 weary, sick heart, — a heart that was all the more weary, all the more sick, from the very doubt that weighed, oh, so heavily ! upon it, — she went to busy herself in, hardest task of all, attempting to alleviate the griefs of others, who, though they could not feel more acutely, were less able to control their grief than herself. Guy found that they had just brought his sister in, and taken her to her room. He went thither and found that her maid had been taking off her cloak, and hat, and had laid her on her bed. She was senseless still. But they rubbed her lips with brandy, and bathed her forehead with Eau de Cologne, and she sighed at last. Guy motioned to the maid to go. He was alone with his sister when she opened her eyes. She looked round the room as if she was trying to recall her thoughts. She did not notice her brother at first, though he was VOL. I. L 218 shot! supporting her in his arms. But it was not many moments before her eyes rested on him, and then there was a low shudder all through her frame, and she whispered , " Guy, Guy, where am I ? What am I doing ? Why am I here ?*' He bent over her, and kissed her cold cheek ; he had no other answer to give her. " But Guy, why am I in bed now ? It is late ; I am sure it must be late ; and where have I been?'^ " You had better try and sleep, darling," Guy managed to say. '' But, Guy, I seem to remember now ; but I can't understand it at all. Why, I got up quite early, before any of you were up. Who put me to bed again?'' She stopped, and again he bent over and kissed her ; but he was shocked at the awful smile that flitted over her face. I say flitted ; for it flitted away almost as it had come, and then, in its place, there came a steady fixed shot! 219 gaze; and she shook her head wildly, and waved her hands, as if she was motioning something or other away from her. '' Yes ! yes ! Guy," she whispered, '' I be- gin to remember now. I was with Sturdith ; he was showing me the ghost's seat ; he was telling me — " The smile flitted away again into that weary stare ; then a shudder went through her whole frame, and she covered her face with her hands, and fell back swooning again. Again he rubbed those pale lips with brandy ; he smoothed her hair, too, while she lay in that swoon. She sighed, at last, and then she opened her eyes, and murmured, almost in a whisper, '' No, Sturdith, 1 never knew what it was to be afraid — at least — " and here she drew a very, very deep sigh — " at least, not for mvself." * •^^ ""'fT(T"'f •^'^^ t r^^-o •ff>(^n Guy kissed his sister once again. That L 2 220 SHOT ! kiss seemed to recall her wandering memory. Yet she lay as still on his arm — so still that lie fairly trembled at that most unnatural quiet. " Guy/' she whispered, " I remember it all now. Tell me ; where is he? Is he dead?" He could not answer that quiet whisper ; but she answered it for herself. " Oh ! then he is, or you would have told me; Guy, dear Guy, who did it?'' "I do not know, darling. Come, you must not tire yourself now, we shall all find it out at last." " No ! no !" and she started up in her bed. " I will not be put off in that way. Som e one must have been in the wood — must have been waiting for us. Oh, and he was just kissing me ; I heard the shot, and then I felt the warm blood. Oh, heaven!" and she sank back in hysterics on the bed. Poor girl ! Her happy dream had met with a rude waking, indeed. It had come, a joy- SHOT ! 221 ous ray, and had vanished — aye, as quickly as sunshine is clouded over on an April day ! Poor Marion! her sobs wrung her brother's heart. He had thought her, only that morning, so happy ; had envied her good fortune, and Sturdith's too. And now, as he heard her heartrending sobs, and thought on the pale blood-stained corpse, which was all that was left of her lover, he thanked God for His mercy to himself. What if he dared not ask Clementina to be his wife? It was better than this; but, hist! for she spoke again in a whisper, weakened with her sobbing, " Guy, Guy, do tell me who did it?" '' Dear Marion, on my honour I do not know, pet. On my honour I would tell you if I did. Lie down, dearest ; try and be quiet, my own darling, for my sake ; you will break my heart if you don't." She did lie down then, quite quietly, and he sat down with his hand in hers by the side of 222 SHOT ! her bed. His thoughts were bent on finding some answer to that question she had asked him; what, was even she ignorant? Could she give no clue to him who had fired the fatal shot? Had the assassin then lurked so closely ? — yet worked so surely ? Oh, there was a God above, and to him he prayed for help. And his sister slept. She dropped ex- hausted into a calm, quiet sleep, and then he left her. At the door he found her maid waiting for his summons to return to Miss Deymont's side, and he sent her back to take his place ; and then he went liimself to enquire after his poor uncle. The servants told him that the doctor was in with the earl. The earl had not been conscious since he had been carried in. My lady had gone to bed; she was going on dreadful. Lady Clementina, God bless her, was nursing her ladyship. They had not brought Lord Sturdith'sbody up to the house; shot! 223^ they hoped that they had done right. They had left it at the inn, till after the inquest was over. Just at that moment, while Guy was talk- ing to the servants in the hall, Lawless rushed in, hot and excited, " Good God, Guy, why what has happened? Are you all dumb, and will not tell me ? Has there been any accident, or what? What could have happened ? Can none of you tell a fellow?" Guy led him gently on one side. '^ There's ill news, Lawless, ill news for us all. Sturdith has been shot — I fear mur- dered." Lawless, strong man as he was, started visibly, and turned pale as tne awful word ''murder" fell upon his ears ; but he answered, after a moment's pause, ^' You mean shot, Deymont, — you cannot mean murdered. No one — who would have murdered Sturdith?" 224 SHOT I Guy shook his head again. " I wish to heaven you were right, Lawless ; but Sturdith was murdered in Hilton Wood, this morning, before any of us were up." SHOT ! 225 CHAPTER XIV. Two more days had passed ; the winter had set in more severely than ever. It was a hard black frost; such a morning p^s Turner painted — in my judgment — the very best of all the w^orks which he bequeathed to the nation. The poor little birds had almost forgotten their habits, and were hopping round the cottage doors in the hope of discovering some stray crumb to relieve their hunger. Here and there some kind-hearted housewife had scattered them a goodly meal, saved from the cloth on which she and her husband had breakfasted. L 5 226 shot! On this identical morning the little village of Deymont was in an unusual state of excite- ment. The one inn — dignified with the ap-« pellation of the Deymont Arms— was doing a right good business. The six stalls in the little stable had been occupied since the earliest dawn of day — a cow-shed had since then done duty as a stable ; and the help of two neighbouring farmers had been obtained later on in the day, and they had managed between them to put up the rest of the horses. In the tap-room of the inn there was a small assemblage of some dozen persons — chiefly farmers, tenants of Lord Deymont. They were sitting — some smoking, some drinking their brandy-and-water — debating all on the one subject, in which they all were interested — Lord Sturdith's murder. But anxious as they all were — and eager in their arguments, there was a feeling in one and all that made them speak in a low, hushed tcne ; and though they were discussing the shot! 227 evidence which it was surmised would b e forthcoming — and though there were nearly as many theories started as there were persons present, the grief that they all felt, made them speak low. " I knew Hwould end in no good; the man who'd shoot a pheasant would shoot a Chris- tian." It was Warleigh who spoke, and a young farmer, dressed in a velveteen coat, answered him. ''May be. Mister Warleigh; may be the case with these wandering gipsy folks, who never were none of them up to good. But that every young fellow, who for a spree shoots a pheasant, would shoot a Christian, 'taint in reason, Mister Warleigh." ''I don't see that, Master Howell," replied Warleigh. " None of your new fangled ideas for me. When I was a young 'un, we looked on a pheasant as a man's own, just as much as his house ; and those who attack a man's 228 SHOT ! house don't stick at murder, so why should they who shoot a raan's pheasant?" The argument was illogical, but many less logical arguments have gone down before now, and there was a buzz of assent round the room. '' What think ye made him shoot the young lord ?" asked, after a pause,an old grey headed farmer. '' There aint a shadow of a doubt about it, Mister Eyfel. Many's the day he's been waiting his chance, skulking about the woods. I've a seen him more than once myself, so there can't be a shadow of a doubt about it." ^' What, a seen him yourself?" '' A dozen times, and better. What had he a ball for in his gun at all, were't not for young lord. Ye don't shoot pheasants with ball." *^ No ! and that's true enough." '' He was a rare fine young chap too, had he been steady." SHOT ! 229 " Steady," said Warleigh, " 'taint in the natur o' those prowling varmint gipsies to be steady. They're the curse of every place they settle in; em, they never settle, and that's the worst of it." " He was a right down good 'un too, the young lord." It was the old farmer who spoke, and there was silence for a few moments. Silence, during which every one seemed afraid to speak, and then the same young farmer, — he of the velveteen coat, — said. "There weren't a straighter goer in all the hunt." ''Nor a better shot either," continued Warleigh, " Nor a kinder heart." It was a very thin feeble voice, — very different to the loud, "aye, and that's true enough," that the sen- tence elicited. It was a very thin feeble voice ; and the old man who spoke spread his hands on the table and, leaned forward. " 'Twere only last year, when the brown 230 SHOT ! mare ran away with my grandson, — minds't it, mates? — and the lad was thrown out hard by the toll-bar in Holly Lane. The yomig lord was driving that way and found the poor boy, and brought him home him- self." The old fellow wiped a tear from his eye. " But that warn't all. My poor boy w^as in bed for six weeks and more, and not a day passed but the young lord came in to see about him. He wasn't much of a scholar, the poor lad, for you know, mates, he'd his bread and butter to get like the rest of us. But 'twas beautiful to hear the young lord teaching him. Such learning ! Why, when the lad got well be could read me a chapter in the bible all except the long words and the hard names, which of course 'tisn't for us to understand.'' '' And I remember," said a rough country fellow, " when Seth Eaitt's son 'listed two years ago, come Easter, old Seth going to the young lord. Bless his heart for it, he SHOT ! 231 promised th' ould man he'd have him out, and he bought him out within three weeks, bless him." Again there was a pause, and for full three minutes those honest country folks kept it unbroken. It was the youDg sportmg farmer who again spoke first. '' Hast heard ought about Miss Deymont?" He looked towards Digweed, who had been sitting in a corner of the room, smoking quietly. Upon being questioned, he took his pipe from his mouth, and, looking round the room, began. '' Miss Deymont, bless her, she'd a' been a real good wife to the young lord, and a real good friend to us all. I may say so ! " he continued, " for I were the last who ever saw him and her together." He drew his sleeve across his face. ^' I went home to my old 'oman, and said to her ' Martha,' said I, ' there's not another lady in the whole world so fit for my young lord, as Miss Deymont.' Don't talk to me !" he 232 shot! added, turning round to his audience, "I've been to Lunnon in my time, and ought to know what a lady is. There's something in Miss Deymont," he Avaved his pipe deprecatingly^ *' that says as plain as I could speak it — ' I'm a deal too good for all you country folks,' and then she smiles, or takes your hand, and seems to say," and here the old man again drew his sleeve across his face. '' ' But I've forgotten it all, and come to live nigh thee and love thee for the sake of my dear lord here.'" No one spoke, and Dig weed t ook two or three pulls at his pipe before he continued. '' I never saw my young lord look so happy as the morning — well, the last morning I saw him. His last moments were happy enough, poor lad. Bless heaven for that.'' Once again there was a pause in the con- versation, and then an old farmer asked. " Hast heard ought of Lord Deymont, to- day?" SHOT ! 233 Warleigh shook his head. ''He'll ne'er be the same man again ! I've heard say that his face is so shrivelled that his best friend wouldn't know him ; and ne'er a word has he uttered since they carried him in from Hilton wood, that morning." I have tried to reproduce the conversation of those poor country folk, in the little tap- room of the Deymont Arms that morning, and I have done so because I should very much regret if anyone were to read this work, and fancy from what I say, or from what I do not say, that Lord Deymont's poor neighbours heard with indifference of his son's death. Outside, where there was a much laro;er assembly of labourers, woodmen, and artisans, there was the same quiet conversation and the same quiet sorrow, in a still more remarkable degree. You may tell me that the people of England are not conservative; — I say there is no such good conservative 234 SHOT ! as the labourer of England. He knows the squire — he loves the squire — he is proud of the squire; he does not want any new rights, he knows, for experience has taught hira, that, if there is a bad year or a bad winter, the squire will not let him starve, and so he doffs his hat, and prays a blessing on his squire's head — aye, though Mr. Bright himself bid him not. It Avas seldom, if ever, that Deymont had seen such an assembly as there was outside the Deymont Arms that morning. The frost was so hard that most of the cottagers were out of work, and so had full leisure to stand idly at the inn door. Then the strangers who had driven in that morning had mostly brought a servant, to look after their horses — and these too had joined the crowd. There was an irresistible impulse that had led thither young and old. The very children, on their way to school, instead of putting down their satchels and indulging SHOT ! 235 themselves for the last five minutes in a slide on that tempting pond, walked demurely up and looked inquisitively into the face of some grown-up friend, to try and find out what he thought of it. But it is in a room in the inn itself that my story rests. Twelve honest English yeomen are sitting there, summoned in the Queen^s name to try and determine how Henry, Lord Sturdith, had come by his death. Twelve honest English yeomen ! They had viewed the body, and now were sitting in solemn conclave to hear the evidence that was to be laid before them. They had a shrewd clever man above them in the coroner, a man who was not likely to miss a telling point, or to overlook any suspicious discrepancy; and there was a great lawyer, specially eugaged for Lord Deymont, to labour and to search, that justice might not fail. 236 shot! The first witness called was our old friend, Guy Deymont. He was cousin (I insert his evidence much as it was given in the papers) to the late Lord Sturdith; had known him from his earliest years ; was at Eton with him ; had last seen him alive the night before his death. He had been with him to a ball at Hickle- bury — he had seemed in good spirits that even- ing — and had heard him, when he went to bed, ask his (Guy's) sister to meet him before breakfast. His sister was engaged to Lord Sturdith. Had not paid much attention to their both being absent from breakfast. Had not been surprised that Lord Sturdith had not joined them out shooting. Did not see anything to wonder at in that. They had been shooting for about two hours — Gu}^ turned very pale here, and the jury bent forward to listen — before anything occurred. He had wounded a pheasant, and the keeper had loosed the retriever, but the dog had left the bird's track, and had taken another path ; shot! 237 Lord Dejmont had run after the dog, and, when he had reached the path down which the dog had gone, had fallen down in a fit ; Lord Deymont was still very ill, his left side paralysed. When the rest of them got up, they saw his (Guy's) sister lying senseless on Lord Sturdith's body — yes, Lord Sturdith was quite cold. There was no mark of a struggle near. There was some thick covert just opposite, quite thick enough to hide a man. Thought that the shot must have come from that direction. Was quite sure that it could not have come from any of their party out shooting. It was a bullet wound. Game was never shot with bullets. Yes, deer were shot with bullets. Deer were game. Should not, strictly speaking, have used the word game ; but they were not shooting deer. Any one could tell the difference between a shot wound and a bullet wound. Lord Sturdith's death had most certainly been caused by a bullet. [ This long digression 238 SHOT ! was in reply to a series of questions put bj an unusually silly juror.] Had had tlie ground examined near the covert which he had mentioned. Had found a trace of a shoe on some un melted snow. Had had the trace carefully copied by the village shoemaker. He submitted that they had better examine the shoemaker on that subject. No, nothing else had been found there. Was quite sure that no firearms had been found near the place, Was quite convinced in his own mind — (This was objected to ; a witness had no right to have p. mind) — that Lord Sturdith had not met his death at his own hands. Had always believed that his uncle was very popular with his tenants. Had never heard of Lord Sturdith having any enemies. Yes, it was possible that he might have had enemies ; if so, he (Gruy) had never heard of them. His sister was far too ill to leave her bed — her deposition had been handed in. Guy gave his evidence in a clear low voice . shot! 239 He was dressed in deep mourning, and was far paler than when we saw him last. More than once he had to stop and take time before he could complete a sentence or some refe- rence to his poor sister. But it was over now, and he heaved a sigh as he turned away, glad that his portion of the duties of the day was completed. Dr. Evans, the village surgeon, was the next witness called. He was a strano;e, pompous little man ; he might possibly have been five feet six in height in his boots ; but then you could say of him, as the wit said of the shilling to the cabman, that it was as broad as it was long. I only saw the pompous little doctor once in my life — and that once was long after the date of this inquest. He was tumbling after his cocked hat, in full uniform — for he was Honorary Surgeon to the Hicklebury Volunteers — into a close cab, to attend Her Majesty's levee. 240 SHOT ! The little doctor looked upon the present as an epoch in his life. I believe that he half regarded Lord Sturdith's murder as a special interposition of Providence in his behalf. To be summoned as a witness on the great murder case of the day — this was better than helping babies into the little world of Deymont, or even than seeing some poor fellow out. Why there would be a report of the case in the "Times." His, his own name would appear — Dr. Evans, Lord Deymont's medical attendant ! He wrote it out, all in full; he was determined that his evidence should be full enough too. And he began a long history, perpetually interrupted by the coroner, but always re- verting to the old tale — how he had been called in to Lord Sturdith, when his lordship had the croup. How he had given him a hot bath and had cured him. How he had attended him when he had come home from Eton with the measles ; how he was con- SHOT ! 241 vincecl that liis lordship's constitution was a good one. The jury yawned and looked at each other. What had measles and croup to do with Lord Sturdith's murder? But Dr. Evans was not a person to be put down, and so he went on his own way. " I was attending, sir, a poor patient," so Dr. Evans went on, " when Lord Deymont's servant came to fetch me. I made what haste I could, and went up to the house. I did not see Lord Sturdith then ; his body had been brouo'ht straio^ht down here from Hilton wood. When I saw him, he was quite dead ; I should say that he had been dead for some hours. I have made a post mortem examination of Lord Sturdith' s remains. There is a slight accumu- lation of blood at the heart — a fatty tendency — wholly insufficient, however, to account for death. The liver was in a healthy condition ; the lungs were remarkably free from disease. I did not find in my whole examination any- thing sufficient to account for death." VOL. I. M 242 SHOT ! Here one of the jurors, a shrewd farmer, interposed. " Was it necessary," he asked, " to have made so rigid an examination, when there was a wound on Lord Sturdith's head which appeared, speaking of course as an unprofessional man, to have been amply sufficient to account for his lordship's death?' ' " Sir,'' said the little doctor; and the sligh t buzz of assent that had followed the juror's remarks, subsided instantly, "I conceived it to te my duty, in a matter of such impor- tance as this, to omit no means which might enable me to discover the true cause of Lord Sturdith's death. The wound might have been made after death. There im'cjht have been other causes which would have caused death at that same moment, had the wound never have been given." The little doctor here looked round in an enquiring way, as if he was saying to himself, 'they won't dare interrupt me again.' "I say ' might,' sir ; for I am bound to confess that I SHOT ! 243 could not trace the existence of any such cause. Sir, I then conceived it to be my duty, to examine the wound in Lord Stur- dith's head.'' Then the little doctor pro- ceeded to examine the wound ; how the ball had entered into one part of the brain, and how it had passed through the other. How it had been deflected by one bone, and stopped by another. Then he produced the ball itself. "And are you of opinion?" said the coroner, at length, " that this wound was sufticient to cause death?" "Yes, sir," was the little doctor's reply; and he folded his arms, as he smiled com- placently on the jury, " I am of opinion that death must have resulted instantaneously from such a wound." There was a slight pause, during which the juror, who had interrupted before, might have been heard to whisper that he could not yet for the life of him see why poor M 2 244 SHOT ! Lord Sturclith's body had been opened. But they had got at Doctor Evans' evidence at last; they had found out all they wanted from him ; he could make way now for other witnesses. And then they handed in poor Miss Dey- mont's deposition. She told it, all that you know already, only much more beautifully than I have told it. Her meeting; Lord Sturdith that morning ; the quiet of the sleeping house ; her casual meeting with Dig- weed, and Dig weed's mention of Jim, the gipsy. Nay, she had made them write down, for she remembered it word for word, her fears about that same gipsy, and Sturdith' s laughing rejoinder. The jury listened more intently than they had before, for the evidence now was in sup- port of the suspicions which they had already formed. Then she had gone on to say that they had walked into Hilton Wood ; that he had SHOT ! 245 been pointing out to her the mossy bank which tradition connected with the old family murder; when she had heard the sharp crack of a rifle, and had started round to see who it was who could be shooting so near theui, when she saw Lord Sturdith stagger and fall, just babbling out her name. She remembered nothing more — nothing, till she had awoke to a knowledge of her misery, in her own room, with her brother beside her. The gardener, Digweed, was the next wit- ness. I need not dwell long on his evidence, important though it was. He had happened to be walking across Hilton Wood on the morning of Lord Sturdith's murder — it was his nearest way from the farm, and he had been down there about some manure — when he saw Jim the gipsy. There was a thorough- fare through part of the wood ; but, when he first saw him, Jim was not in the thorough- fare, though he had made to it at once, at his (Digweed's) approach. Digweed confessed 246 SHOT ! that he had used some hard language; had called Jim an idle, thieving scamp, or some such name ; had advised him to go straight home, for Warleigh would be sure to be about there. Why had he abused him ? — He hated the fellow ] he would not conceal it from his honour — of course he hated him; had not the scamp said that he would pay his lordship out ? Then this drew out a long series of questions; and the coroner elicited how Jim had, months ago, when he was put in prison by Lord Deymont for poaching, threatened that he would be even with his lordship; that he would pay him out; that they would see one day who would suffer most from his imprisonment. The faces of the jury grew longer. Link after link was being added to the chain of evidence against the gipsy. Then Digweed spoke of his meeting with Lord Sturdith and Miss Deymont, in the SHOT ! 247 flower-garden, and the poor fellow^ s eyes filled with hard honest tears, as he was led on to talk about them. He had not feared for them ; he never dreamed tha.t Jim had not left the wood. Had it been otherwise, he would have advised Lord Sturdith not to go there. He did not mean to say that he would have feared what had happened ; but he would have been afraid that the gipsy would have been rude to his lordship. Warleigh was the next witness called. He spoke to the finding of the body ; he corroborated Dig weed's evidence in regard to the threats which the gipsy had more than once sworn against the Deymont family. So far, he only bore out what had been said before. But in the afternoon, after the mur- der had been found out, he had been engaged with the constable of the parish in making a minute search in Hilton Wood. They had both come to the conclusion that the fatal shot had been fired from a thick covert, 24S SHOT ! nearly opposite to the ghost's seat. Close by this shady, sequestered covert, a little snow- had still resisted the slight thaw, and on this snow they had found the trace of a man's boot. The villao-e cobbler had made a care- ful measure of the trace, which had one peculiarity in it, that the sole which had made the print must have been w^orn into a hole in the centre. The cobbler w^as called ; he was quite satisfied of this. He could swear to the boot that had made the trace, were it shown to him. Then they called the parish constable, and he corroborated the latter part of Digweed's evidence. He had communicated w^ith the Hicklebury police; and they were all agreed that the suspicion was so strong, that they were justified in arresting the gipsy on a charge of murder. They knew what a desperate fellow he was, and so they had gone in such force as to make resistance impossible — and, at the dead of the night, when he was asleep, and less SHOT ! 249 prepared ; still lie had flung one of tliem to tlie otlier end of the room, before he had been taken. They had found him at a little inn, the " Swan," about six miles off; he was always there — he was in love with the host's daughter. Then they had searched the room ; they had found a gun — it was clean; a powder flask, a shot pouch, and some loose bullets — they w^ere produced; they were indisputably the same size as that with which Lord Sturdith had been shot. They had found no boots in the room, except one pair ; neither of that pair was worn in the sole ; but the cobbler deposed, for they recalled him, that the boot which had made the print on the snow was as nearly as possible the same size as that which had been found in the gipsy's room. And the police had hunted out one witness more ; Ned Haggles the helper at the ''' Swan," and no friend of Jim's, as he blurted out in his igilorant way, — Jim had quarrelled with him, M 5 250 SHOT ! about six montlis ago, for refusing to give some strolling gipsies some beer, and had thrashed him so that he had been forced to lie up for a fortnight. But his evidence was given in a straightforward manner. He per- fectly recollected Jim's coming in that morn- ing. He had his gun with hira, and he went straight up to his room with it; but he (witness) could swear that the gun was iiot clean at that time, for he had noticed an exploded cap on one of the nipples. They cross-examined him on this point ; but he was quite firm about it — nothing shook him in the least. The gun had been clean enough the night before, for he had seen it in Jim's room ; but it was dirty then. He would swear in any court in the world that there was an exploded cap on one of the nipples. And then the coroner called Jim himself, and briefly explaining to him how suspicion had fixed itself upon him, asked him w^hether he wished to make any statement, warning shot! 251 him, however, that any evidence which he gave would be taken down, and might perhaps be produced against him on some other day. The gipsy stood there with a sneer on his proud lip, though every now and then you might see his eye glance anxiously from one to another of the jurors as if he was trying to read his fate in the expression of their faces. He stood there far the finest and handsomest man in all that room. '^ Yes, sir, I will say my say, though ye won't believe me. Shame on ye all the more for your lopsided justice! Ye'll send me to prison — yes, lo rot and wither with no sight of the bright sun, and no taste of the fresh air ; but I didn't kill Lord Sturdith. There never was a speck of man's blood on this hand yet ; but ye'll send me to prison, for ye are glad to shut me up and save your game."' Here the coroner interrupted him, and pointed out to him how useless it was vent- 252 shot! ing his spleen so foolishly ; and he questioned him about the morning of the murder, — led him to speak of his meeting with Dig weed. 'Tve told your honour," the gipsy said, and perhaps the calm manner of the coroner had had its effect upon him, for he spoke more quietly; '' T have told your honour that there never was a speck of blood on this hand, and I spoke truly. 'Taint o' much use for such as me to say so, though, for ye' 11 believe the liars, who have spoken to ye, before ye believe a word of a poor homeless lad. I don't deny that I was in Hilton Wood that morning.. Mister Dig weed, he saw me. 'Tisn't likely I should deny it. Xor be I going to deny, your honour, that I went for game — poaching ye call it. But, your honour, there's a mighty difference between Idlliug game and killing men. When I saw Digweed, I leaned my gun against a tree, and went to meet him. When I went back, the vouno- lord ^vas dead — I saw him, your honour, dead ! I took SHOT ! 253 my gun away and struck across tlie fields towards the Swan. And ye won't believe me," lie added, looking straight towards the coroner's face. " You won't believe me, your honour, because I've broken your laws and shot the wild creatures that God gave us all ; and you'll believe the others who've spoken against me. Dost know, your honour, why they have ? Months ago, I was put in prison for doing what ye call poaching. It was a bright clear day, and I felt the free air that I was not to feel again for six weary months ; and I felt mad, your honour, and said more than I sliould have done against Lord Dey- mont. Your honour, are a poor mad lad's words to weigh against him so heavily? When I came out of prison there were some games in Deymont Park, and there was a reason in tiiose games lor what sume of those, who have spoken this afternoon Lave said against me." He stopped, and looked down on the ground for a few minutes *, and 254 shot! apparently, for he seemed about to rise from Lis seat, the coroner thought that he had finished. But Jim again looked up and said, though with barely so firm a voice, " I have told your honour why those who have spoken against me, hate me. It wouldn't be hard to add another reason ; but I'll tell you why 'tisn't true what they have said; I don't deny that I saw Lord Sturdith and Miss Deymont walking together. But that I'd have hurt him then ! There's a lass, your honour, who has saved me from more than one scrape ; if I had taken her advice 1 shouldn't a been i' this scrape now ; and, when I saw those two walking in Hilton AVood, I thought of Mary, and how I walked with her, and I'd not have harmed — ye won't believe me, none of ve — a hair of either of them ; and, when I ^ 7 7 came back and saw her lying on him, I could not help thinking of what would be- come of my poor lassie were anything to happen to me." SHOT ! 255 " Then it was with your gun, you believe," said the coroner, descending, if I may say so, from poetry to prose, " that Lord Sturdidi was murdered?'' '^I am certain of it." '' How came it that you had loaded with ball at all r '' I always load one barrel with ball. I've taken more than one buck out of Deymont Park, and a fat doe is better pay than a cart load of pheasants, and less trouble." " But, my poor fellow," and the coroner spoke kindly, for he had been touched by Jim's story, '' the account you have given of yourself may be all true ; but it isn't very credible. You state positively that it w^as wdth your gun that Lord Sturdith was shot ; you confess that you were on the spot your- self directly after the murder, and there is no evidence to prove that anyone — indeed, it may be very fairly presumed that no one else could 256 SHOT ! have been there without your knowledge. It would have been better for you to have taken my advice, and to have refrained from saying anything." " Your honour, is't for a poor lad like me to say that another was in the wood that morning? 'Twouldn't help me, for ye'd ne'er believe my words, and so I'm not going to do another liarm without helping myself. Two days ago I knew that I'd be in prison to-day, and I know now that 'twill be five years, five long years afore I come back to these parts and see Mary again ; and when I come back, as come back I shall, ye'll be all sorry that ye did me harm to-day ; and right glad — one and all of you — to see me happy with my own Marj !" He paused for a moment, and then, lavina: his brawny hand on the table, added, in a clear firm voice, " 'Tis all as plain to me, your honour, as plain as the lines on my hand." shot! 257 I am not sure that his crazy ending did not do more harm than his address had done good to his cause. I have given as it seems to me the gist of the evidence at the inquest on Lord Sturdith. There were other witnesses, but these were only called in corroboration of what I have already told you. When it was all over, the coroner made a brief charge to the jury. They were summoned, he told them, to in- quire into tlie causes of the death of a man, whose body had been found in Hilton Wood. It had been proved to them that the dead man was Lord Sturdith ; and that his death had resulted from a bullet wound. It had been shewn to them that it was almost impossible that that wound had been self-inflicted. The evidence all tended to prove that the shot had been fired by a gun, the property of a gipsy, who ackno\vledged having taken the gun into Hilton Wood that morning. It appeared probable that it had been fired from a spot 258 SHOT ! where a foot-print had been found. It was clear that this print had not been made by the boots the gipsy was known to have. On the other hand, as it was made by a boot of apparently exactly the same size as those which the gipsy wore, it was possible that he might have concealed the boots in which the murder had been committed. Then, for a motive, it had been proved that he had used threatening language, not in particular against poor Lord Sturdith, but generally against Lord Deymont's family. This was the case against the gipsy. For him there was his own account of his having left the gun, cor- roborated by Digweed's evidence, and the doubtful point of the print on the snow. They had themselves heard the gipsy give his evidence. They would therefore be the best judges what sort of credence they should yield to him. If they believed him, they would return a verdict to the effect that they had not discovered by whom the fatal shot had SHOT ! 259 been fired ; but if they did not believe his story, and, if they thought it was no acci- dental shot that had caused Lord Sturdith's death, they would record a verdict of murder against the gipsy. Need I say what was the verdict which the jury returned? — "We find that the deceased, Henry Lord Sturdith, came by his death in consequence of a bullet, deliberately and wilfully fired, by James Alex, commonly called Jim the Gipsy." 260 SHOT ! CHAPTER XY. It was on the morning of the very clay that the coroner's jury assembled at Deymont, that two gentlemen, to whom I have already in- troduced you, were sitting in the Guard's club in Pall Mall. 1 have said '' sitting/' but I am afraid I have selected a wrong word, for Lord Penzance was lolling on a couch, and his friend, Peyton, was lazily tapping the barometer, anxious to see what chance there was of an open day at last. They had returned to London, for it hap- pened that Peyton was on guard the morning after the Hicklebury ball. Lord Penzance had SHOT ! 261 strongly objected to doing so (but it was part of his nature to object to everything), because the thaw had set in so rapidly — as I hinted in a previous chapter, — on the morning after the ball, that it seemed not unlikely that the hounds would be able to meet in another day. But Penzance forgot that our English climate is as fickle as a woman. The thaw had but lasted for a few short hours. Steadily ever since, the tbermometer had fallen, and 16 degrees of frost the night before, did not look much, like hunting. It was Peyton who spoke first. " Heigh ho ! Penzance," he yawned, as he turned away, " no chance yet of any hunting. Hang the frost, I hate skating. Three horses eating their heads off. It is enough to make a saint swear." " It can't last for ever, Peyton ; so I don't think that I shall stay up in this infernal hole. I have a great mind to go out of town at once. I am quite sick of all this." 262 shot! '' Why you can do nothing out of town this weather. It is too cold to shoot with any comfort." "Hasn't Lawless some duck shooting at Sturdith? I've a great mind to go down there." "Yes; but then he's probably still at Deymont. So that cock won't fight," and Peyton took up the " Post," and flinging himself on a chair began leisurely to read it. "Phew!" he whistled in a few minutes. " Good Heavens, Penzance, have you seen this?" " Seen what ?" was the answer. " Why Sturdith's been murdered." "Murdered? What? Who shot him? Where is the paper ?" " Here it is, and not much either — " ' We regret to state that Lord Sturdith was found in a copse, yesterday afternoon, a short distance from Dej/'mont, murdered. The shot! 263 coroner's inquest, it is believed, will take place to-day ; but in the meanwhile the police are actively engaged in searching for the murderer. They believe him to be a notorious poacher, who is known to have used most threatening language towards Lord Deymont's family/ " Then here's another paragraph— " ' By Lord Sturdith's death a vacancy of course arises for shire. Out of respect to Lord Deymont, not much discussion as to the probable candidate has at present arisen ; but the names of Mr. Guy Deymont and Captain Lawless have both been mentioned in the conservative interest, and Mr. Abraham Muchmull, a rich millowner, of Hicklebury, intends, it is rumoured, to contest the county on advanced liberal principles. ' " The two friends were silent for a moment ; but Lord Penzance broke out at last. 264 SHOT ! "Why, Peyton!" "Well!" " Egad ! I've won the century." Peyton either didn't remember, or didn't choose to remember his bet at such a moment. For he answered, " Won what, Penzance ?" " Why the century to be sure. If Stur- dith is dead he cannot marry Guy Deymont's handsome sister. So you lose your bet ; and I win my money. It's an ill-wind that blows no one any good." Peyton was an honest fellow at heart, and perhaps he disapproved of such cold-blooded philosophy, for he made no answer ; and the conversation ceased for some minutes ; but Penzance began again. " I've half a mind to go down to this said inquest." " Why, what on earth should you be going down there for ?" " That's more than I can tell you, myself ; shot! 265 but I am bored with London, and want to get out of it. Lawless is sure to go back to Sturdith now, so that I can easily get put up." " Well, for my part I prefer the club," and Peyton shrugged his shoulders. " Telegraph for me, there's a good fellow, as soon as there's a prospect of beginning ; but till then — well — good-bye, old fellow. You've got a hun- dred out of me this time. You must give me your revenge when you get back to London." And so the two friends parted. Penzance did go down to Deymont. Not many hours after his conversation with his friend in the Guards' club, he got out of the train at the great station at Hicklebury, and set off on foot to walk across the downs to Deymont. Had anyone asked his lordship then what had brought him down on this wild goose chase, he would have been unable to have VOL. I. N 266 SHOT ! answered them. There was a wild impulse about the fellow, which was the best part of him. He was bored with London, — any- thing was better than that, — so he had started off at once, leaving word for his servant to follow him with his luggage. The keen, clear air as it came whistling over the downs would have lightened the heart of the veriest cynic . Even Lord Pen- zance — and that is saying a good deal — en- joyed his walk that morning. He did not know the country well ; but still he knew it quite well enough to enable him to pick his way along , as he trudged onwards, happier than he had been for many, many, a day, — even seduced into humming a tune. And so he went on over the downs. It was some four miles to Deymont,* and he had * The attentive reader, wlio remembers the two hours' drive to the Hicklebury ball, may imagine this to be an error. But Deymont house is a mile and a half farther than the village from Hicklebury ; while on the other hand the ball-room at Hicklebury is farther from Dey- mont than the station. The cut across the downs from Hicklebury to Deymont is three miles shorter than the carriage road. SHOT ! 267 gone a good three, when he struck into the path — those who know Deymont must re- member it — which trends along by the little rippling stream that gurgles through the village. He was just emerging from the wood which you pass through — just passing the famous spot where old Sir Philip Hark- away had sent his horse at the ox-fence, and, leaving the field behind him on the wrong side, had had the hounds to himself for the first forty-five minutes of the best run of the season. Lord Penzance knew the spot well — he had often ridden up to it since, and looked at the famous old squire's leap. He had just passed this spot, I say, and had reached the open field above the church, when, at the opposite side of the field, he saw the first living thing, except a lark or so, and some partridges, that his eye had rested on since he had left Hicklebury. She, for it was a girl, was leaning on the stile at the other end of the field ; her back N 2 268 shot! was towards him, for she was looking towards the village. But as he came nearer he saw peeping beneath her plain cotton dress as choice an ancle as was ever framed to tempt man ; and, when he came a little nearer still, he saw rich locks of the lightest auburn, peeping from under the huge gipsy bonnet the girl was wearing. So intent was she watching, or, at least, looking towards the village, that it was not until he actually stood beside her that she was aware of his approach ; and, as she turned round at the sound of his step, she moved a little to one side to give the gentleman room to pass. But, in that one little moment, some mis- chievous fiend, perhaps the very one which had brought Lord Penzance down to Dey- mont, had whispered to him that he was stand - ing in the presence of a rare gem of beauty. He had time even in that moment to notice that she was unhappy, for there were signs of SHOT ! 269 tears floating in her eyes, whidi made those eyes even more lovely than ever ; and her sorrow — I will not say that he did not pity it — but it gave him hope. '' My poor girl/^ he began, in as kind a tone as he could conjure up, ''what, crying? What's the matter?'' She looked up, for it was kindly said, and smiled in her tears, — but she could only manage to gurgle out, " Oh ! sir ; oh ! sir/' "Well, my pretty wench, I can't help you if you won't tell me how. Come, let's hear all about it," and he put his arm round her waist and was going to draw her towards him, while he leaned his head down to snatch a kiss from the tempter's lips. The girl hardly seemed at first to be aware of what he was doing ; but it was only for a moment that she stood passively before him, and then, placing her hand oa the top bar of the stile, she vaulted over as lightly and easily as 270 shot! if it was her daily practice ; and as she stood at the other side with her eyes flashing, and her nostril swelling, there were no traces of her smile, no traces of her tears, " If I let you kiss me, how could I ever see Jim again ? — Nay ! nay ! there are scores of fine ladies, I'll be bound ; — but Fm Jim's Mary, and no one dares touch Mary Powell." "Well but, Mary, I did not mean to hurt you, — you seemed so unhappy, I wished to please you ; but who's Jim, and why isn't he here to comfort you himself?" " Oh ! sir, he didn't do it, indeed he didn't doit!" ''Do what— didn't do what?" " Oh, he didn't kill him, sir, — indeed I'm sure he didn't. Jim would never kill anyone, but they all hate him, because he's so much stronger and handsomer than them all ; be- cause I like him and won't like them." Lord Penzance's face was a study during all SHOT ! 271 this sentence. The truth was gradually breaking upon him, and he said, " Then this Jim of yours they have taken up for killing Lord Sturdith?" ''Oh, but sir, he didn't do it! — Indeed, indeed, he didn't do it!" So subtly does the devil work, that I believe that at that moment he was busy persuading Penzance that the work to which he was urging him on was a work of Christian charity. Be that as it may, there was a kind- ness in Lord Penzance's tone which, to say the least, was unusual, as he answered, " Well but, Mary, this may be all so ; but it is no use your simply telling me." ''But, sir, what am I to do?" sobbed *he poor girl. " This lover of yours — have they taken him up?" " Oh, they came, sir, and took him away from me — and they will kill him ; and that will kill me — and indeed he didn't do it." 272 shot! " But if he did not do it, they will not kill him. He will soon be out again, and with you." '' No, sir, that will not be, I know, because they hate him for killing their game •, and so they^ll keep him locked up and I shall never see him again/' And the poor girl pressed her hands against her face and sobbed aloud. At that moment, could he have seen them, there were two angels hovering over his lord- ship's head. The one was a fair and pleasant girl gracefully floating above him, but wear- ing an anxious, sorrowing expression on her young lovely face. She was whispering to him, — and his conscience felt her words, — that those tears which yon poor girl was shedding were dropping in too holy a cause to be turned by him in aid of his base mean desire. But how could she, that poor weak angel, resist the fiend who was pushing her away from his ear. That fiend, that other ansrel. SHOT ! 273 was a woman too, and she had that bold vaunting- beauty about her which you may see in some poor unhappy women who have sacrificed everything for a short wild revel of shame; and she came with no gentle whisper, but with a loud outspoken tongue, telling him that the girl was fair, fairer than any whom be had seen before. That if she did marry her gipsy lover, what would her life be, compared to what he might make it. That if — but I will not sully my pages with the temptations which she used — with the eloquence she conjured up to win her cruel cause. " There was war," we read in the Apocalypse, '' in heaven. Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon was cast out." Two of the greatest masters that ever lived selected this over- throw of the dragon for the subject of a pic- ture. Each has treated the subject in the same way ; each has made Michael triuni- N 5 274 shot! pliant, but clearly not triumpliant from bodily strength. In eacli of these pictures Satan is an embodiment of muscular power, a pros- trate, conquered Hercules ; and in each the victorious Michael is a delicate, almost effemi- Jiate figure., hardly strong enough, to judge from appearances, to prevent the Devil he has overthrown from rising again ; and it is, I presume, from this idea having been even more clearly worked out by Guido than Eaphael, that the painting of the former master won from no mean authority the name of '' the Catholic Apollo." For my part, I think that no one can stand in the Capuccini before the picture without gaining a clearer knowledge of the meaning of the words that Satan was overcome '' by the blood of the Lamb, and the word of their testimony.'' Eaphael and Guido painted an answer to the beautiful old prayer, '' God defend the right !" In the days of Eaphael, indeed, men had not given over judging the justice bhot! 275 of the cause by its success. The reason- ing which had elevated the ordeal by battle to the dignity of a trial, and of a trial in which God himself was to be judge, had not entirely relaxed its hold upon men's minds. Even in our own time, Napo- leon's epigrammatic saying, that he found that Providence was on the side of the strongest battalions, was quoted as a proof of Napoleon's unbelief. Yet, though, some might hesitate to say so from reverence, there can be few, now, who would not admit that might in war is of a deal more use thaa a righteous cause. I have been led into this long digression by my mention of the struggle between Lord Penzance's o:ood and bad ano-els : and be- cause in this instance might triumphed over right, and Lord Penzance's bad angel pre- vailed. And yet, unfeeling as Lord Penzance for years had been, so uncertain was the conquest 276 SHOT ! at first, that his words came in a doubting, hesitating manner, as if he half wished them unsaid as they were uttered. " Bat have you done nothing to save him, then ? Your tears alone will be of no use, you know/^ She looked up, as he said it, in a wild scared way, " But what should I do, sir? What can I do?" Again he hesitated, and the angel bent down and whispered that it would be charitable to suggest it ; and he spoke out then, in a low voice, "• You should get a lawyer to defend him — a very clever lawyer—he would be sure to save liim." She came nearer to him and placed her hand on his arm ; she was all trust,— and then she raised her eyes to his, and even smiled. But the smile vanished as another tliought came— a thought which her speech expressed, SHOT ! 277 ''But how can I find a lawyer, sir? I know no lawyer, and no one would help a poor weak girl like me '^ She stopped, and then she added, '' But perhaps, sir, you are a lawyer? Oh, sir, if you are, you will save Jim, won't you? God will bless you, sir, if you will help poor Jim." He could hardljT- help smiling, even then, at the notion of his being a lawyer; but he answered, very gravely and very slowly, "No, Mary, I am not a lawyer; but I know a lawyer, a very clever man, who I think could save Jim, — only he lives a long way from here.'' The girl brightened up, '' And, sir, you will send for him or write for him. I know you will — he will come for you. You will send for him, won't you, sir ?" "He wouldn't, I'm afraid, come for that, Mary ; no, no ! you must come with me, and 278 shot! I will take you to him ; and, if you tell your story to him as well as you have told it me, you will win him to come.'' " But, sir, he lives a long way off, you say, and how can I go a long way with a great gentleman like you? What would Jim say ?" " Very well, Mary," Lord Penzance an- swered, as he made a pretence of turning to go, '' of course that is for you to settle. It is rather hard on Jim, though, as I suppose he roust die," Every atom of blood left the poor girFs face; but she answered, in a very calm, quiet voice, '' I Avill go with you, sir. You are not de- ceiving me, are you?" ''No, Mary; never fear; but, if you go, we must go at once. We can catch the train to London, and we shall then be back here early to-morrow.' ' She walked by his side as be retraced his steps to Hicklebury. She talked to him of SHOT ! 279 Jim, and of his many feats. Spoke to him fearlessly of all the poaching that her lover had been guilty of. Then she let out, little by little, the story of her long attachment to him. How, when a boy of ten, and she but seven, Jim had thrashed another boy three years his senior, and taller by as many inches, for teasing her. How he had climbed, a year later on, the big elm in the middle of the park, because she had wanted an egg out of the wood pigeon's nest. How, when they had grown older, he had loved to walk with her alone. How his love for her had more than once TDrevented his undertakino- some mid- night expedition ; and she let out, too, how many a young fellow would be glad enough to have Jim out of their way for sake of her, and how, for this reason alone, they all hated him. And so, as she walked on by his side, she grew more trustful, more hopeful ; and so they walked on together till they came to the Hicklebury station. 280 shot! There were a few minutes before the train started, and Lord Penzance left her and drew aside the guard to speak to him. She fancied that she saw him slip some silver into the guard's hand, but she paid little attention to that. It was her first railway journey; and the sight of the mighty engine screeching and puffing close to her was almost sufficient to distract her thoughts even from her grief. Lord Penzance was not away from her many moments. Short as these moments were, she was glad to see him returning to her, for she had learned, poor girl, already to trust her new found friend. But, just as he reached her side again, a gentleman, whose face she remembered having seen before, but at the moment could not remember where, touched him on the shoulder, and spoke to him. The two moved off together, and she was not able to hear what they said to each other. SHOT ! 281 " Why, Penzance/' began Lawless, for it was he who had accosted his lordship, " what brings you to Hicklebury ?" '' The same reason as that which makes you look so sulky, I suspect — the frost, and nothing to do.'* Lawless certainly looked grave ; he frowned as if he was not overpleased with his lord- ship's observation ; perhaps Lord Penzance observed the frown, for he drew Lawless a little further from Mary, as he went on, " But I've drawn a rare covert this morn- ing, and bagged the prettiest face; but judge for yourself.'' Lawless just turned to glance at Mary before he answered, with a half-laugh, "Where did you find, Penzance?" " Oh ! 'tis the veriest joke ! She's in love with the gipsy felJow that shot Sturdith, and I'm going to introduce her to a lawyer to defend this gipsy lover," — and here his lord- ship laughed. 282 SHOT ! '' You are going to do nothing of tlie sort/* answered Lawless, with an oath, that reached Mary where she was sitting, and made her start and tremble. " Not a yard do you take her!" " Why," answered his lordship, reddening, " you spoiling sport ! I'll be — " I am unluckily ignorant of his lordship^ s opinion of his future lot ; for he looked up in the middle of his sentence and caught Lawless' eye. I fancy that Lawless' eye must at that moment have worn very much the same ex- pression it did on the day when he turned those three hulking fellows I told you of in my first chapter, off the gate ; for though Lord Penzance, to give him his due, was no coward, he turned pale, and stopped in the middle of his sentence ; and never attempted to prevent his friend's walking up to his pretty Mary. ''My poor girl," began Lawless, as he reached Mary's side, "you must not go to SHOT ! 283 London with that strange gentleman. There is no need for you to do so ; your lover's trial is over." Mary looked up in a puzzled way, wonder- ing where she had seen Lawless' face before, and hardly knowing whether to believe him or no. '' You must know," he went on, "this is but a beginning — this day's trial. Suppose they have found him guilty to-day. It does not follow that they will — that — that he will not afterwards be acquitted." With her eyes full of tears, Mary asked, " Oh ! sir, have they found the poor boy guilty?" "I do not say that, Mary ; but they have committed him for trial." " And so there's to be a trial — is there, sir?" '' Yes, Mary." There was a moment's pause, and then she answered, 284 SHOT ! " But I'm thinking then, sir, that he'll want more than ever the lawyer that gentleman spoke to me about. So, if you please, sir, I will go all the same." Lawless bit his lips. How strange it seemed his taking such an interest in this girl. '' You must not go with that gentleman. It is not proper for you to do so. Take my word for it." " But why am I to take your word any more than his ?" asked Mary, sorely reluctant to distrust one whom she had fancied so kind. It was a difiicult question for Lawless to answer. '' Did you ever hear your lover talk of Captain Lawless?" he asked, at last. The girl brightened at the name. ''Yes — " " Oh, I dare say," said Lawless, interrupt- ing her with the only approach to a smile that he had worn since he had been talking to SHOT ! 285 her. " Oh, I dare say that many a pheasant he's taken out of my preserves." " No ! no ! sir," she cried, piteously. '' No ! no, indeed, sir; but are you Captain Lawless ?" " Yes, Mary ; will you trust me, now ?" She rose from the bench on which she was sitting, " I will trust you, sir ; but you will tell me how to save Jim, won't you?'' He led her out of the station without answering her ; just as they left it, the engine whistled, and the train started for London. He walked by her side for a couple of hun- dred yards without saying a single word; then he asked, " Can you find your way to the ' Swan' by yourself, Mary?" "Oh, yes, sir." " And you trust me ?" "Yes, sir." " Well, then, go straight home. I'll promise 286 SHOT ! you I will not let them hurt a single hair of your lover's head." He turned round abruptly, and walked back towards the station. SHOT ! 287 CHAPTEE XVI, It was late in the afternoon before the coro- ner's jury arrived at their verdict. But, late as it was, the police determined to move Jim that very evening to the county gaol. Jim had heard the verdict delivered with the ut- most apparent indifference. Perhaps his pride stood him in good stead at that moment. Without resistance, without remonstrance, he suffered himself to be led away. The police had a van ready, in which they took him to the Hicklebury station. Poor Mary, how little she guessed that her lover would have reached it so soon after she her- 288 shot! self had left it. There was no crowd at the station ; for the good townsfolk of Hickle- buryhadnot anticipated that Jim would have been brought thither that evening. The pri- soner was safely placed in a third-class car- riage, seated between two policemen, who were armed to the teeth. In about ten minutes the train started. One of the constables, a good-natured fellow, began entering into conversation with the prisoner. Jim thanked them both for their kindness. He seemed very pleased at there being no crowd at the station, and enquired whether there were any others where the train stopped. No, it ran right through to Barwell, where the county gaol is. If you have ever travelled by this line, you probably remember that, soon after leaving Hicklebury, you enter Heywood tunnel; and that, as soon as you have emerged from this, the land sinks rapidly, and that over this low ground the line is carried on a shot! 289 lono; embankment, till it reaches a broad branch of the Eiver Avon. This it crosses on a narrow bridge, and then passes on again to higher lands, and more simple engineering. The constables were all alive while the train was in the tunnel ; but Jim — so they told me, for I examined them on the subject — seemed to have fallen asleep, his head dropped on his breast, then jerked up spas- modically, as a drowsy head will, and finallv fell on the eood-natured constable's shoulder. The prisoner was fast asleep, and locked up in a railway carriage. Naturally, the policemen began to think of making themselves comfort- able. Possibly they grew drowsier than they were disposed to admit to me. Both of them, however, agree in one point, that, j ust before the train reached the Avon, Jim started to his feet, flung the good-natured constable to the other end of the carriage, knocked the other down with a blow that would have felled an ox, VOL. I. o 290 SHOT ! and, with one mightj kick, burst the door open, and plunged unfearingly into the Avon, which thej were passing over. It was quite dark. They could hardly distinguish the splash which Jim's body made as it fell into the water. They tried to communicate with the guard and the engine driver, but they could not. Three quarters- of-an-hour elapsed before they reached Bar- well — a pretty start to give so active a prisoner as the gipsy. On arriving at Bar- well they telegraphed to the stations all over the country an accurate description of Jim ; of his dress, his appearance, and all those little particulars which the police are so accustomed to certify to. If Jim was alive, they felt sure that he could not escape them for a week. One point they were very particular about, — there was a fast train leaving Hicklebury for Southampton, in two hours and a half. Two policemen were specially detailed to watch shot! 291 the Hicklebury station. Every passenger, however unsuspicious in his appearance, was to be closely watched ; and every passenger about six feet high, with black hair, was to be most minutely examined. Five minutes before the train started, a cab drove up to the station, with a gentleman in it. He flung the driver, as he got out, half- a-crown, and said, in a clear voice, " Just tell the landlord I shall be here again on Wednesday. I shall want lunch at one." The two policemen looked at each other. They had orders to examine everyone about six feet high, and with black hair; and this man had black hair^ and was about six feet high ; and, absurd as it may seem, they actually followed him, and were surprised to see him, without taking a ticket, enter a first-class carriage. One of them drew the guard aside ; but the guard shook his head, and the policeman came up himself, and asked the passenger for his ticket. 292 shot! '' My ticket, Oh yes " — and after feeling in Lis pocket for a moment, " Here it is," he said, and produced a first- class return ticket for Southampton. llie suspicious constable was taken aback, and was all apologies. '^ I beg your pardon, sir; I am sure I beg pardon ; but we had strict orders — and you have black hair, sir." ''Yes." ^' No offence meaned, sir ; but you see, sir, there was a sharp one out, and we did not know how he might double us." " You have done quite right, my man, I've no doubt. Stay, here's my card, you may like to satisfy yourself still more," and he handed the policeman a card, just as the train whistled and moved out of the station. The card bore these words : — Mr. Thomas Jones, junior, Southampton. Mr. Thomas Jones asked his way to a shot! 293 marine store shop, when he reached South- hampton, where he swopped the clothes he had on for a sailor's out-fit, and then, happily hitting on a ship just sailing, and short of men, flung his little bundle on board, and in two hours was slipping fast away from his native land, as fast as wind and tide could bear him. Just about the same time, a labouring man was hurrying along a lonely, quiet lane, a few miles from Barwell. He was whistling a merry tune to himself; but he stopped in the middle of a bar, for he fancied that he heard a low groan. He stood still ; the groan was repeated. There was a little copse on the left, and from thence the groaning seemed to come; thither he made the best of his way. His two arms stretched round a tree, just too large for him to span, and his wrists tied so tightly together that it was impossible for him to extricate himself, he found a man 3 294 shot! from whom the groans which had attracted him had proceeded. He was dressed in a rough working suit, which looked as if it had been recently drenched through and through. He had no boots on his feet and no hat on his head. Never was there a more pitiable object than this man in his present state. The good-natured peasant went up to him and cut the ropes which bound his wrists so cruelly together ; but the man fell down, stiff and numbed, on the ground, and the peasant had to carry him for the best part of a mile to a neighbouring farm. The farmer's wife put the poor fellow into bed, and made some hot broth to tempt him with while they were waiting for the doctor ; but it was not until the doctor had come, and that warmth had begun to call back some small remnant of life, that they thought of despatching a messenger for the police. But by the time the police had arrived the SHOT ! 295 fellow had so far recovered that he was able to give a tolerably clear account of liiraself. He had come that day from Southampton to visit an aunt who lived three miles from Hicklebury. He had intended to return to Southampton by the night express, and had actually reached the lonely lane near which he had been found, when he had been stopped by a man in drenching wet garments, who had threatened to kill him if he uttered a cry. He had shown fight at first ; but the fellow had thrown him as easily as a man could throw a child, and had then forced him to change his clothes for the wet, dripping gar- ments which his assailant had taken off. And yet strange to say the fellow was not a regular thief, — he had returned to him all his money except a few shillings, and all his property, except his return ticket to Southampton, and, when he had bound him to a tree in the cruel position in which he had been found, he had begged his pardon so civilly and repeatedly 296 shot! that his victim was more inclined to forget than be angry. No wonder, then, when the police told him by whom he had been attacked, Mr. Jones answered, '^ It may have been by Jim, the Gipsy, but I will never believe, — no, not till I hear it from his own lips, — that the man who attacked me was a murderer/' Perhaps th® reader may be sufficiently in- terested in this story to care to hear that when Mr. Jones reached his home at Southampton, he found a note waiting for him from poor Jim, the Gipsy, expressing his sorrow, begging his pardon, and telling him where he had pawned his clothes ; and perhaps it may be equally interesting to know that Jim got safe away, and so the police shrugged their shoulders, and the Press howled over the murderer's escape. Moreover, I hope that my readers will care to hear one word more of Mary Powell. Poor girl, she was very unhappy at first, but the next day she got a hasty line wliich for years SHOT ! 297 and years after never left her bosom, save when she took it out to read it over again or bathe it with her tears; and I hope that I have not told my tale so ill that my reader will not guess from whom that little leave- taking note had come. Nay, but it was more than a farewell note, for it bade her look forward to five years later on. He would be back then, he told her, back again to see his dear own Mary, and all would go Avell then — that he was confident of; aye, it was as clear as the lines in his hand. And so Mary waited patiently. May I dare compare my creation to Viola ? — and the police waited hoping, debating, wondering. Were I wise I should perhaps finish the first part of my story with this mention of Mary. But at the risk of tiring my reader, if I have not done so already, I must introduce him to one more scene before I drop the cur- tain, for more than a year will have passed 298 shot! before it is raised, and it will then be only raised for a moment. A fine, bright winter morning in January. On that sunny terrace walk, down which, when we were last there, we saw Sturdith and Marion strolling together towards Hilton Wood — on that sunny terrace Lord Deyroont, terribly altered, is sitting in his Bath chair. Lady Clementina and Guy, both dressed in the deepest morning, alone are with him. "• And so, Guy,'' said the old man, for I must call him an old man now, " MuchmuU never went to the poll after all," ''No, uncle," said Guy, and he tried to speak cheerfulh^, — " he saw that he had no chance. Your name had more weight than all his promises.'' " Yet," said Clementina, "he seemed like fighting at first, didn't he ? " Oh, you would have laughed, uncle, if you could have heard the speech he made at Hicklebury. Every good thing that the SHOT ! 299 country ever had was due to the Reform Bill. ■ Education, Repeal of the Navigation Laws, Free-trade, — and so forsooth, for he made a 'so' of it, though for the life of me I can't see the sequence, — it was the duty of every man to have a new Reform Bill to supersede the old one." " But you said he promised, Guy," replied Clementina, who saw that her poor father, for the first time since Sturdith's death, was taking an interest in the conversation. " Promised ! Clemen tin a, there was nothing that he didn't promise. We were to begin * by wiping off the National Debt, held by the rich landowners who, it seems, are the curse of the country. To effect this, it will pro- bably, he thinks, be necessary to extinguish the peerage, which is an anomaly and inde- fensible. The establistied church follows as a matter of course, and the poor, who, it appears, are now ground down with taxation, 300 SHOT ! are for the first time to be emancipated. Taxation is to be borne by the rich, especially by the landowning rich, and Mr. MuchmuU is to inaugurate, as Prime Minister, an era, in which poverty is to cease and poor laws to be forgotten, because there are no poor.'' " And what," said the old Earl, '' did you tell them, Guy?" ''Oh, very little, uncle. I told them that after all it seemed to me that the Conserva- tives had done pretty nearly as well as the Whigs — that Pitt, Wellington, and Peel were Conservatives, and that to them some share in the credit of emancipating the Catholics and repealing the Corn Laws was due, and that D' Israeli's budget, though he had gone out on it, was a better one than most that had preceded it. And then, uncle, — for all this you know was only a reply — I thought it best to go straight to the point, and so I told them that I was your nephew," — Guy's voice SHOT ! 301 trembled, — '' and that I ca ne tiiere among' tliem at your bidding', and because I knew that they trusted you, and because I intended, by G-od's help, to do my duty towards them, as my poor cousin Sturdith had dons his before me, in a way that would not shame the good old Deymont blood that runs in my veins. And, uncle, had you heard the cheer that they all raised then, you'd have known that they're all as proud of the old blood as we are, and that though there were a million of Muchmulls they would never be able to do away ^vith the peerage of England." " God bless thee, Guy," was all the old earl said, but a tear rolled down his withered cheek which his powerless arm was unable to wipe away, and Guy wheeled him on, Clementina at his side, along the terrace walk. All along that terrace walk and back again, without a word from any one of the three. VOL. I. P 302 SHOT ! Guy stopped again in the bright sunlight and the old peer addressed his nephew, ''TheyVe heard no more of the gipsy, Guy?" It was spoken interrogatively, and it was the very first time Lord Deymont had ever alluded to the murder. " They think, uncle," said Guy, " that he sailed to America, but it is but guess work. We haven't much chance of catching him now. " The old man said nothing for a few moments, but Guy saw that his poor para- lysed hands were twitching uneasily. 'Tm glad of it," he said at last. "Yes," he said, "I'm glad of it— it wouldn't give us your poor brother back again, Clementina ; and perhaps, if he lives, he may learn to be sorry foi what he has done." Again there was a pause, and again it was the old peer who spoke first. "Guy," he shot! 303 said, " is it true that the fellow was in love with some poor girl?" " Yes f it was Clementina who answered her father ; " the daughter of the landlord of a little inn on the road to Sturdith." ''Poor girl," said the old earl, "what's become of her, Clementina?" '^ She's been terribly shocked, the servants tell me," Lady Clementina replied ; '' and she is so pretty. Do you remember, uncle, the girl whose beauty we all so admired at the sports in the park?" The old earl did not remember, or perhaps, did not hear his daughter's question ; for he gave no answer to it. He was silent for a few moments, and then he said. " It wasn't her fault, Guy, and you mustn't let her suffer for it ; but don't let her know that anything you give her comes from this house. May- hap her pride wouldn't like to take a favour from us." Can I end my first part better than with the 304 SHOT ! old earFs charitable speecli. Fall, then, the curtain on the first act of ray history. Cry you, '' Hold enough," or will you "wander on into another part. END OF VOL, I, T. C. 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THE PRINCE OF WALES, Maker of the Great Clock for the Exhibition, ] 863, and of the Chronograph Dial, by ■which was timed " The Derby" of 186-i, 1863, and 1864, Prize Medallist, Class XXXIII., and Honourable Mention, Class XV., Prize Medal for Watches, Dublin, 1865, begs respectfully to invite the attention of the nobilit} , gentry, and public to his establishment at 2.-., OLD BOND STREET, (Formerly the Banking House of Messrs. Call, Jlartin, & Co.), which he has fitted tip with a very splendid stock of Watches, Clocks, Bronzes d'xVrt, Jewellerj% and Plate. 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By THOMAS MORE MADDEX, M.D., M.R.I.A., Licentiate of the King's and Queen's College of Physicians, in Ire- land ; Member of the Royal College of Surgeons, England; Licen- tiate of the Faculty of Physicians and Surgeons, Glasgow; Demon- strator of Auatomy, Carmichael School of Medicine ; Author of •'Change of Climate in Pursuit of Health," "The Climate of Malaga," &c. MR. NEWBY'S NEW NOVELS. FOURTH EDITION. In Three Vols. COMMON SENSE. By the Author of " Wondrous Strange," " Kate Kennedy," &c. ' ' We have read this novel with pleasure. It is a healthy, sensible, and interesting story. The title is sober, and scarcely indicates the high order of qualities which are illustrated in the narrative — a story which may be read with profit as well as pleasure." — Athe- N.EUM. ' ' Were we called upon to decide which was the best novel 1865 produced, we should unhesitatingly pronounce a verdict in favour of ' Common Sense.' It is intensely interesting, the moral unexception- able, and the lesson it inculcates beyond aU praise."— Daily Ex- press. "Every chapter contains an instructive lesson in life, an object set before us to acquire, and the means of obtaining it by the most upright and honourable means. It is an admirable novel." — Observer. "Mrs Newby has the special gift of never being dull"' — Cosmopo- litan. " Nothing but a lady's elegant pen could have touched off so delight- ful a story."— Court Journal. ' ' It can -nith advantage be put into the hands of the youngest novel reader "■ — Victoria Magazine. " One of the best novels of the day, the healthy tone of which will place it on the same shelf mth those of l^Iiss Austen." — Reader. " It is long since we have read a pleasanter novel. The hero has interested us immeasurably more than any other fictitious character we have encountered for years."— Church and State Review. " A good moral runs through every page," — Bell's Messenger. 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"We can have no hesitation in recommending it as a work of a very high, if not the highest, class of its order." — Literary Gazette. " The power of language and fidelity of expression which pervade the whole work, are sufficient to place it far above the average of novels. Yery few living writers would have succeeded better." — Morning Post. " It is, and we speak it with due deliberation, exceedingly similar to some of Sir Walter Scott's best efi'orts. It possesses all his vivacity and tacit adherence to natiu'e."— Chronicle. y