riumph, Nidia forgot her
natural disgust at sight of the blood-gouts which lay thick and
hideously red along the trail.

How still it all was! Had their mother taken those earthquakes of
children for a walk? she wondered. Even then it was strange to be out
of earshot of their voices, if only in the distance. Well, the youthful
hunter should be in, anyhow.

"Jimmie!" she called. "Jim-mie!"

No answer.

The front door was closed. She noticed that the trail went round as
though to the back of the house, yet in front of the closed door the
blood-patches lay thicker than ever. Jimmy would catch it when his
mother came back, she thought to herself, for bringing his quarry in at
the front door and making that horrid mess. Lifting her skirt to avoid
the latter, and making a little grimace of disgust, she turned the
handle.

There was a window opposite, but the blind was down. To Nidia, coming
in from the full glow of the sunlight, the room was almost dark. Only
for a moment though, and then she saw--

She saw that which might have turned many a stronger brain than hers--
she saw that which made her cover her eyes with her hands, and stagger
back against the doorpost with a low wailing cry of such unutterable
horror as can rarely have proceeded from human throat. Oh Heaven! must
she look again and go mad? was the thought which flashed through her
mind as with hands pressed to her eyes she leaned against the doorpost
as rigid as though turned to stone.

On the couch beneath the window aforesaid lay the form of Hollingworth--
the form, for little else about the wretched man was distinguishable but
his clothing. His skull had been battered in, and his features smashed
to a pulp. There he lay, and on the floor beside him a periodical which
he had been reading before overtaken by the sleep from which he was
destined never to awaken. In one corner lay the corpse of his wife--
and, in a row, four children, all with their skulls smashed, and nailed
to the ground with assegais--the whole having undergone more or less
nameless horrors of mutilation. This is what she saw--this girl--who
had never looked upon a scene of violence or of bloodshed in her life.
This is what she saw, returning in serene security to the peaceful home
that sheltered her. No wonder she stood against the doorpost, her hands
pressed tightly to her eyes, her brain on fire. Was it a dream--an
awful nightmare? The very magnitude of the horror s