Part 2 (1/2)

”He left us at the top of the Black Copse, sir,” the man answered. ”He was coming round by the other side--shot a woodc.o.c.k there once, sir,” he said.

They glanced across the moor toward Falcon's Nest. There was no one in sight.

”He's had plenty of time to get round,” remarked Lord Lathon, throwing down his gun. ”Perhaps he's resting.”

Mr. Thurwell shook his head.

”No; he wouldn't do that,” he said. ”He was as keen about getting here as any of us. Hark! what was that?”

A faint sound was borne across the moor on the lazily stirring breeze.

Helen, whose hearing was very keen, started, and the little party exchanged uneasy glances.

”It must have been a sea-gull,” remarked Lord Lathon, who wanted his luncheon very badly indeed. ”We'd better not wait for him. He'll turn up all right; Geoffrey always does. Come----”

He broke off suddenly in his speech and listened. There was another sound, and this time there was no mistake about it. It was the low, prolonged howl of a spaniel--a mournful sound which struck a strange note in the afternoon stillness. There was breathless silence for a moment amongst the little group, and the becoming glow died out of Helen's cheek.

Rachel Kynaston was the first to recover herself.

”Had Sir Geoffrey a dog with him, Heggs?” she asked quickly.

”Yes, miss,” the man answered. ”His favorite spaniel had got unchained somehow, and found us on the moor. I saw her at heel when he left us.

She was very quiet, and Sir Geoffrey wouldn't have her sent back.”

”Then something has happened to him!” she cried. ”That was Fido's howl.”

”Has anyone heard his gun?” Mr. Thurwell asked.

There was no one left to answer him. They had all started across the moor toward the black patch of spinneys around which Sir Geoffrey should have come. Mr. Thurwell, forgetting his fatigue, hurried after them; and Helen, after a moment's hesitation, followed too, some distance behind.

She ran swiftly, but her dress caught often in the p.r.i.c.kly gorse, and she had to pause each time to release herself. Soon she found herself alone, for the others had all turned the corner of the plantation before she reached it. There was a strong, sickly sense of coming disaster swelling in her heart, and her knees were tottering. Still she held on her way bravely. A few yards before she reached the corner of the plantation, she almost ran into the arms of Lord Lathon, who was hurrying back to meet her. There was a ghastly shade in his pale face, and his voice trembled.

”Miss Thurwell,” he exclaimed in an agitated tone, ”you must not come!

Let me take you back. Something--has happened! I am going to Rachel.

Come with me.”

She drew away from him, and threw off his restraining arm.

”No; I must see for myself. Let me pa.s.s, please--at once.”

He tried again to prevent her, but she eluded him. A few rapid steps and she had gained the corner. There they all were in a little group scarcely a dozen yards away. A mist floated before her eyes, but she would see; she was determined that she would see this thing for herself.

She struggled on a few steps nearer. There was something lying on the gra.s.s around which they were all gathered; something very much like a human shape. Ah! she could see more plainly now. It was Sir Geoffrey--Sir Geoffrey Kynaston. He was lying half on the gra.s.s and half in the dry ditch. His white face was upturned to the cloudless sky; by his side, and discoloring his brown tweed shooting coat, was a dark wet stain. In the midst of it something bright was flas.h.i.+ng in the sunlight.

She stood still, rooted to the spot with a great horror. Her pulses had ceased to beat. The warm summer day seemed suddenly to have closed in around her. There was a singing in her ears, and she found herself battling hard with a deadly faintness. Yet she found words.

”Has he--shot himself?” she cried. ”Is it an accident?”

Her father turned round with a little cry, and hastened to her side.