t would be so, sooner or later; 'tis all in the
way of business. They haven't carried off a bird, squire, not a
bird; we was too many for 'em--eh, Paul, eh?'

'Where is that cursed doctor?' said the squire. 'Save him, colonel,
save him; and I'll give you--'

Alas! the charge of shot at a few feet distance had entered like a
bullet, tearing a great ragged hole.--There was no hope, and the
colonel knew it; but he said nothing.

'The second keeper,' sighed Argemone, 'who has been killed here!
Oh, Mr. Smith, must this be? Is God's blessing on all this?'

Lancelot said nothing. The old man lighted up at Argemone's voice.

'There's the beauty, there's the pride of Whitford. And sweet Miss
Honor, too,--so kind to nurse a poor old man! But she never would
let him teach her to catch perch, would she? She was always too
tender-hearted. Ah, squire, when we're dead and gone,--dead and
gone,--squire, they'll be the pride of Whitford still! And they'll
keep up the old place--won't you, my darlings? And the old name,
too! For, you know, there must always be a Lavington in Whitford
Priors, till the Nun's pool runs up to Ashy Down.'

'And a curse upon the Lavingtons,' sighed Argemone to herself in an
undertone.

Lancelot heard what she said.

The vicar entered, but he was too late. The old man's strength was
failing, and his mind began to wander.

'Windy,' he murmured to himself, 'windy, dark and windy--birds won't
lie--not old Harry's fault. How black it grows! We must be gone by
nightfall, squire. Where's that young dog gone? Arter the larks,
the brute.'

Old Squire Lavington sobbed like a child.

'You will soon be home, my man,' said the vicar. 'Remember that you
have a Saviour in heaven. Cast yourself on His mercy.'

Harry shook his head.

'Very good words, very kind,--very heavy gamebag, though. Never get
home, never any more at all. Where's my boy Tom to carry it? Send
for my boy Tom. He was always a good boy till he got along with
them poachers.'

'Listen,' he said, 'listen! There's bells a-ringing--ringing in my
head. Come you here, Paul Tregarva.'

He pulled Tregarva's face down to his own, and whispered,--

'Them's the bells a-ringing for Miss Honor's wedding.'

Paul started and drew back. Harry chuckled and grinned for a moment
in his old foxy, peering way, and then wandered off again.

'What's that thumping and roaring?' Alas! it was the failing
puls