“You saw _me_ walking there! Rubbish! I have just come from Bradmouth. Did you see that man, Rock, run by?” “Yes, I see’d him fast enough. I should say by the looks of him that he has been doing murder and gone mad. Half an hour ago, before you came along, or begging your pardon, some one as limped like you, he had a gun in his hand, but that’s gone now.” “Look here, young man,” said Henry, as they went forward, “what are you doing here, that you come to see all these things?” “Well, sir, to tell the truth, I was driving my donkeys to feed on Rock’s land, and when I saw him coming along with a gun I hid in the bracken; for we had words about my taking his feed this very morning, and he swore then that if he caught me at it again he’d shoot me and the dickies too; so I lay pretty close till I saw the other man go by and heard the shriek and the shot.” [Illustration: ] ‘It is Joan Haste.’ “Come along, for Heaven’s sake!” said Henry: “that devil must have killed some one.” Now they were near to the Abbey wall, and Willie, catching his companion by the arm, pointed to a dark shape which lay in the white dust of the roadway, and in a terrified whisper said, “Look there! what’s that?” Henry dashed forward and knelt down beside the shape, peering at its face. Then of a sudden he groaned aloud and said, “It is Joan Haste, and he has shot her!” “Look at her breast!” whispered Willie, peeping over his shoulder. “I told her how it would be. It was I who found you both a year ago just here and looking like that, and now you see we have all come together again. I told her it was a bad beginning, and would come to a bad end.” “Be silent, and help me to lift her,” said Henry in a hollow voice; “perhaps she still lives.” Then together they raised her, and at that moment Joan opened her eyes. “Listen, you!” Henry said: “she is alive. Now run as you never ran before, to Dr. Childs at Bradmouth, to the police, and anybody else you can think of. Tell them what has happened, and bid them come here as fast as horses can bring them. Do you understand?” “Yes, sir.” “Then go.” Willie sprang forward like an arrow, and presently the sound of his footsteps beating on the road grew faint and faded away. “Oh! Joan, Joan, my darling,” Henry whispered as he leant over her, pressing her cold hands. “Cannot you speak to me, Joan?” At the sound of his voice the great empty eyes began to grow intelligent, and the pale lips to move, faintly at first, then more strongly. “Is that you, Henry?” she said in a whisper: “I cannot see.” “Yes. How did you come thus?” “He was going to murder you. I—I passed myself off for you—at least, I tried to—but grew afraid, and was running away when he—shot me.” “Oh! my God! my God!” groaned Henry: “to think that such a thing should have been allowed to be!” “It is best,” she answered, with a faint smile; “and I do not suffer—much.”