ed lips and staring eyes that were fixed in horror on her niece.

There was a deathly silence for a few seconds. Then, in a terrible
voice, she demanded: "What is that on your dress, Lucy?" And, after a
pause, her voice rose into a shriek. "What have you done to my boy?"

I glanced in astonishment at the dazed and terrified girl, and then I
saw what her aunt had seen--a good-sized blood-stain halfway down the
front of her skirt, and another smaller one on her right sleeve. The
girl herself looked down at the sinister patch of red and then up at her
aunt. "It looks like--like blood," she stammered. "Yes, it is--I
think--of course it is. He struck his nose--and it bled--"

"Come," interrupted Mrs. Haldean, "let us go," and she rushed from the
room, leaving me to follow.

I lifted Miss Haldean, who was half fainting with fatigue and agitation,
on to the sofa, and, whispering a few words of encouragement into her
ear, turned to Mrs. Hanshaw.

"I can't stay with Mrs. Haldean," I said. "There are two visits to be
made at Rebworth. Will you send the dogcart up the road with somebody to
take my place?"

"Yes," she answered. "I will send Giles, or come myself if Lucy is fit
to be left."

I ran to the stables for my bicycle, and as I pedalled out into the road
I could see Mrs. Haldean already far ahead, driving her machine at
frantic speed. I followed at a rapid pace, but it was not until we
approached the commencement of the wood, when she slowed down somewhat,
that I overtook her.

"This is the place," I said, as we reached the spot where I had parted
from Miss Haldean. We dismounted and wheeled our bicycles through the
gate, and laying them down beside the hedge, crossed the meadow and
entered the wood.

It was a terrible experience, and one that I shall never forget--the
white-faced, distracted woman, tramping in her flimsy house-shoes over
the rough ground, bursting through the bushes, regardless of the thorny
branches that dragged at skin and hair and dainty clothing, and sending
forth from time to time a tremulous cry, so dreadfully pathetic in its
mingling of terror and coaxing softness, that a lump rose in my throat,
and I could barely keep my self-control.

"Freddy! Freddy-boy! Mummy's here, darling!" The wailing cry sounded
through the leafy solitude; but no answer came save the whirr of wings
or the chatter of startled birds. But even more shocking than that
terrible cry--more disturbing and eloquent with