She bade him stay quiet, and she
went to look after Griffith.

She found him in the drawing-room, with his head on the table, in deep
dejection.

She assumed authority, and said he must go to bed.

He rose humbly, and followed her like a submissive dog.

She took him to his room. There was no fire.

"That is where you are to sleep," said she, spitefully.

"It is better than I deserve," said he, humbly.

The absurd rule about not hitting a man when he is down has never
obtained a place in the great female soul; so Ryder lashed him without
mercy.

"Well, sir," said she, "methinks you have gained little by breaking
faith with me. Y' had better have set up your inn with me, than gone and
sinned against the law."

"Much better: would to Heaven I had!"

"What d' ye mean to do now? You know the saying. Between two stools--"

"Child," said Griffith, faintly, "methinks I shall trouble neither long.
I am not so ill a man as I seem; but who will believe that? I shall not
live long. And I shall leave an ill name behind me. _She_ told me so
just now. And oh! her eye was so cruel; I saw my death in it."

"Come, come," said Ryder, relenting a little; "you mustn't believe every
word an angry woman says. There, take my advice; go to bed; and in the
morning don't speak to her. Keep out of her way a day or two."

And with this piece of friendly advice she left him; and waited about
till she thought he was in bed and asleep.

Then she brought Thomas Leicester up to her mistress.

But Griffith was not in bed; and he heard Leicester's heavy tread cross
the landing. He waited and waited behind his door for more than half an
hour, and then he heard the same heavy tread go away again.

By this time nearly all the inmates of the house were asleep.

About twenty-five minutes after Leicester left Mrs. Gaunt, Caroline
Ryder stole quietly up stairs from the kitchen, and sat down to think it
all over.

She then proceeded to undress; but had only taken off her gown, when she
started and listened; for a cry of distress reached her from outside the
house.

She darted to the window and threw it open.

Then she heard a cry more distinct, "Help! help!"

It was a clear starlight night, but no moon.

The mere shone before her, and the cries were on the bank.

Now came something more alarming still. A flash,--a pistol shot,--and an
agonized voice cried loudly, "Murder! Help! Murder!"

That voice she knew directly. It was Griffith