"'Pon my soul, I don't know. I never asked. 'Twas a point that had no interest for me. But now I'll go upstairs and make myself presentable, and join you presently over a cup of tea. We have had a famous scamper, the boy and I. But he will be with you in a minute or two." After tea they played ecarté for a couple of hours, and never had Mrs. Bullivant seen her brother more cheerful and at his ease. She went to bed not knowing what to think. CHAPTER XVI. THE SHEARS OF ATROPOS. The news of the tragedy in Threeways Spinny reached Stanbrook about nine o'clock in the morning. The body of the murdered man had already been taken home, and it was Mrs. Dinkel's next-door neighbor who was deputed to convey the sad tidings to her. She was on the point of taking the Squire's breakfast upstairs when the man arrived at the Hall, and asked to see her. Ten minutes later Mrs. Dinkel entered her patient's room. Like the thoughtful creature she was, even in the midst of her distress she had not forgotten the breakfast tray. Having placed it on the table by the bedside, she turned to the Squire, and, in a voice which not all her efforts could render firm, said: "Sir, a great misfortune has befallen me--the most terrible that could have happened. My son has been murdered! The tidings have just reached me. His body was found early this morning in Threeways Spinny. He had been shot through the heart--he who had not an enemy in the world! Sir, I must leave here at once. I am wanted at home, as you can well conceive; but if----" "Dead! your son dead!" shrieked the Squire, almost as shrilly as a woman might have done. Then for a few seconds he remained speechless. His heart stopped beating, and a black veil dropped before his eyes. But the very force of the shock brought its own reaction. He flung up his arms, and then let them drop helplessly on the bed. "In that case, what is to become of me?" he moaned. "The Lord in heaven only knows, sir, for I'm sure I don't," answered Mrs. Dinkel. It was all she could do to crush down her emotion. The Squire sank back on his pillow with a groan. The bereaved mother stood looking at him, anxious to go, and yet, so strong was the professional instinct in her, not liking to leave him. Of a sudden he beckoned her to go closer to him, and when she had done so he clutched her by the sleeve of her gown. In three short minutes his face seemed to have aged a dozen years. His lips had turned of a grayish purple, and a thin froth had gathered at their corners. His eyes were the eyes of a terror-hunted soul brought to bay, and yet ready to turn and curse with its latest breath the inexorable fate which had driven it there.