Not half an hour more had elapsed, when one of the gardeners was seen running across the lawn at full speed toward the house, and with the interval of a minute, five or six of the men-servants issued forth with the gardener, carrying a sofa between them. There was a great commotion in various parts of the house, a running to and fro, the voice of many tongues, and even the maids gathering round the door that opened into the front vestibule. All their eyes were turned in one particular direction, and at the end of about twenty minutes, the men were seen returning, bearing upon the sofa the form of some person, who seemed, from the sad and careful manner in which he was carried, to have received severe injuries. When they arrived at the door, the men set down their burden, while the glass wings were thrown open; and there before the threshold of that dwelling, which his own violent passions had rendered miserable to all it contained, lay the body of Sir Francis Tyrrell, cold, still, inanimate, and already beginning to grow stiff. A small thin trickling stream of blood over the pillow of the sofa showed that the injury he had received, and which had caused his death, must have been inflicted on the back of his head, while a slight contusion on the forehead, together with some earthy stains upon the breast of his coat, evinced that he had fallen forward, and that the blow had come from behind. Mr. Driesen had by this time come to the door, attracted thither apparently by the noise, and he now stood gazing upon the countenance of his dead friend, evidently much affected, but struggling against his feelings, and expressing neither sorrow nor surprise. All that he said was, "Take the body into the library. Send for the coroner immediately, and bid the keepers scour the whole park and country round on horseback and on foot, to see for any stranger lurking about." The butler gazed silently in his face for a moment, shut his teeth tight, and shook his head with a meaning sadness. "Do as I bid you," answered Mr. Driesen, sharply; "and remember that every word now spoken is of importance. I know that his life was threatened some days ago by a man in the park, for he told me so." The butler made no reply, but turned his eyes to one of the servants who came behind, and who was not engaged with the others in carrying the body of his master. The man had a gun in his hand, the cock of the right-hand barrel was down, and the white dust surrounding the pan showed that it had been recently discharged. A single glance was sufficient to show that it was the gun of Charles Tyrrell, the same gun that he had taken out with him in the morning. Mr. Driesen made no observation, however, but by a slight frown, and the body was carried into the library as he had directed. "Go and give the orders I mentioned," continued Mr. Driesen, speaking to the butler, as soon as they had set down the body, "while I go and inform Mr. Tyrrell, who has been in some time."