"You sacrificed her life," interrupted Henderson, darkly and sternly, "the best horse a man ever rode," and then without another word he strode out of the stable, his heart full of inexpressible bitterness. For he knew that his own hand had killed the creature he had loved. Brown Bess had been his favorite horse, and had been given to him by his father shortly before his death, and Henderson remembered at this moment his pride and pleasure when he received the gift. And another memory, too, rose before him; a memory fraught with remorse and shame, and the face of the dead girl, Elsie Wray, seemed to hover near him in the darkness, as he had seen her in the days of her early love. He had ridden Brown Bess to the Wayside Inn shortly after his father had presented her to him, for the purpose of showing Elsie his new possession. And when he was leaving the girl had followed him out of the house, and laid her dark head against the mare's glossy neck and kissed her. He saw this little scene again now, and groaned aloud in his misery. He had killed them both, he was thinking--the two who had loved him--and bitter and unavailing regret and remorse filled his heart. His mad passion for May Churchill had blinded him to all sense of justice and right, and he had flung away the love which was truly his for the sake of a fair face that had always looked coldly at him. And now it all came back to him! Elsie's vain appeals and awful death, and he shuddered as he walked on; shuddered and stumbled amid his haunting visions of the past. A pale-faced woman was standing, candle in hand, watching for him as he staggered toward the open door of Stourton Grange. This was his mother, who had grown uneasy at his prolonged absence, and was now peering into the mist and darkness looking for her only son. Presently she saw him; saw his haggard face, and his eyes full of remorse and gloom. She went forward to meet him; she took his cold, damp hand. "My dear, are you not well?" she said, tenderly, as she led him into the hall, and put her candle down on the table. "You look ill, Tom, what is the matter?" For a moment he looked at her, and then suddenly broke down, and a choking sob burst from his lips. "Tom, come in here; I've a fire here," went on Mrs. Henderson, putting her hand through his arm and leading him into the drawing-room. She made him sit by the fire; she got him what he required, and hung over him and tended him with her mother's love strong in her breast, as though he had been the sinless child she had once cradled there. She asked no questions, but presently she gathered from his half-incoherent words that Brown Bess was dead, and that he was weary of his life. She soothed and comforted him, and finally persuaded him to go to bed, but she did not leave him that night, nor for many nights to come.