“Stay here while I go and see,” she commanded. She walked quickly down the drive, and the automatic still swung in her hand. Patricia saw her enter the field. The man was lying on the grass, sprawled out on his back. His hat had fallen off, and he stared at the sky with wide eyes. Miss Girton put down her gun and bent over him, feeling for the beating of his heart. . . . Patricia heard the woman’s shrill scream; and then she saw Agatha Girton standing up, swaying, with her hands over her face. The girl’s fingers closed over the butt of the automatic in her pocket as she raced down the drive and out into the road. Miss Girton was still standing up with her face in her hands, and Patricia saw with a sudden dread that blood was streaming down between the woman’s fingers. There was no trace of the man. “He was shamming,” gasped Agatha Girton. “I put down my gun—he caught me—he had a knife. . . .” “What’s he done?” Miss Girton did not answer at once. Then she pointed to a clump of trees and bushes in the far corner of the field, which was not a big one. “He took the gun and ran that way—there’s a sunken lane beyond.” “I’ll go after him,” said Patricia without stopping to think of the consequences, but Agatha Girton caught her arm in a terrible grip. “Don’t be a little fool, child!” she grated. “That’s death. . . . I lost my head. . . . All he said was: ‘_Don’t do it again!_’” The woman’s hands were dripping red, and Patricia had to lead her back to the house and up the stairs. Agatha Girton went to the basin and filled it. She bathed her face, and the water was hideously dyed. Then she turned so that the girl could see, and Patricia had to bite back an involuntary cry of horror, for Miss Girton’s forehead was cut to the bone in the shape of a capital T. Chapter XIV Captain Patricia “He branded me—the Tiger——” Agatha Girton’s voice was pitched hysterically. “By God . . .” Her face had become the face of a fiend. Hard and grim it always was—now, with smears of blood from brow to chin and her hair straggling damply over her temples, it was devilish. “I’ll get even for this one day. . . . I’ll make him crawl. . . . Red-hot irons are too good for that——” “But, Aunt Agatha——” Patricia was full of questions, and it seemed the right moment to let some of them off, but Miss Girton turned on her like a wild beast, and the girl recoiled a step from the blaze of fury in those smouldering eyes. “Go away.” “Was that the man who’s been blackmailing you?” “Go away.” “And is he the Tiger?” Miss Girton took a pace forward and pointed to the door. “Leave me, child,” she said in a terrible voice. “Go back to your Saint before I forget—— If you aren’t outside in a second I’ll throw you out.” She meant it. Patricia had never seen and hoped she would never see again the face of a woman so contorted with passion. There was nothing to do. “Very well,” said Patricia steadily. “I’ll go. I hope you won’t be sorry.” “Go, then.”