a thousand such trivial fancies, were
running through my mind with a distressing minuteness which those only
who have known such moments can understand.

At last the light came. In my eagerness to ascertain the state of poor
Chesterton, I quite forgot the villain with whom I had been
struggling. We had mutually relaxed our hold upon hearing the shot;
and he now took the opportunity of our whole attention being directed
elsewhere, to open the door and effect his escape. We had too much of
other business in our hands to think of following him.

The second man lay close to my feet. I stepped over him, and raised
Chesterton's head upon my arm; the eyes were half open, but I could
detect no sign of life. I told Brown I feared it was all over.

"I know it is," said he; "he is shot through the heart. I aimed there.
But what could I do?"

I turned round, and it was with somewhat of an angry feeling that I
saw Brown examining the breast of the man who had last fallen, utterly
indifferent, as it seemed, to the dreadful fate of our poor friend.

"For heaven's sake," said I, "let that villain alone, and help me to
move poor Harry: I believe he is gone."

"Ay, poor Harry!" said Brown somewhat vacantly: "I wish that blow had
fallen on me! And was that shot too late after all? Your gun hung
fire, Hawthorne--it did indeed. Poor Harry!"

I was so absorbed in anxiety for Chesterton that Brown's strange
manner made no great impression on me at the time. The first man, who
had been merely stunned by the blow from the but-end of the gun, was
now beginning to revive, and I begged Brown to get something to secure
him with.

"I don't think, sir," said Mrs Nutt who had recovered her terror
sufficiently to offer her assistance, and whose coarse red hands,
having removed Chesterton's neck-kerchief, and loosened his
shirt-collar, now showed in strong contrast with his fair skin, but
had nevertheless all a woman's sensibility about them--"I don't think
but what the poor young gentleman has life in him--I am sure I can
feel his heart beat."

"Oh yes, oh yes, Mrs Nutt--he cannot be dead--send for a surgeon!
Hawthorne, why don't you send for a surgeon?"

"There's none nigher than Oxford," said Mrs Nutt.

"I'll go for un," said the girl. "I ben't afear'd;" and she turned
pale and shook like a leaf; but the spirit was willing, and she
persisted she was ready to go. However it turned out that there was a
labourer's cottage about a quarter