l him outright. He is laid in the
parlour, for they could not carry him upstairs. Two gentlemen
justices have been here to-day, and the constables are on the
search for him who did the deed. The doctor thinks he knew
him. Oh, Bryda, it was Jack Henderson. Mr Barrett has come
from Bristol, and shakes his head over the Squire. He neither
speaks nor moves. It is dreadful. Can you come home? And,
Bryda, you must know was it Jack--and where is Jack? If they
catch him--oh, it will be more than we can bear. The doctor is
not sure it was Jack. His face was covered with blood when he
met him running downhill like a madman. Was it Jack?--Your
sister, BET, in sorrow and love.'

Was it Jack? Ah, yes, she knew it only too well, and on her return to
the parlour she found Mr Lambert telling the story in his short,
concise, lawyer-like fashion, Madam Lambert nodding and ejaculating from
time to time, 'Good Heavens!' and Sam listening with open mouth to the
story as he waited at table.

'The young scapegrace's mother has been at Corn Street to-day. She is in
a towering rage against you, Miss Palmer. She looks on you as the cause
of the fray. The constables can hear naught of the boy, and he is got
off scot-free, I daresay. Well, it's no use crying over spilt milk. You
had best have taken my advice, Miss Palmer, and married the Squire.'

'Oh,' Bryda cried, with the cry of a hunted animal in pain, 'oh, spare
me, sir, spare me. I--I cannot bear it.'

'Compose yourself, for goodness' sake, Miss Palmer, or you will make me
ill. You agitate me, and before my footman, too. Pray, miss, be quiet.'

But poor Bryda had lost all self-control, and crying aloud 'Spare me,'
she left the parlour.

But her fate pursued her, for Sam opened the door to Mrs Henderson, who
came hastily in, brushing past Sam, and saying, as Bryda was hastening
upstairs,--

'Stop, Bryda Palmer. Let me at least tell you what I think of you, you
minx. To draw my poor son into a mess like this, to ruin his prospects,
to turn him into a hunted felon--he who never so much as hurt a worm, he
who is my eldest son, like to make his fortune, come in for his uncle's
business and his money. Oh, did I not warn him that you were a
good-for-nothing hussy, thinking yourself clever, and a wit, and a
poetess. Yes, you may well cry and moan.'

'My good woman,' said Mr Lambert, now coming into the hall, 'I can't
have any brawling