“Quick! Quick!” she said, seizing him by the arm. “Mr. Ralston has shot Mr. Percy. He is in auntie’s cottage. Run!” “Bless my soul! Shot Jack Percy! I didn’t think it would come to that. What won’t young blood do?” the doctor exclaimed, trying to keep up with Elithe, whom he questioned as to what she saw, and which she told him readily, with no thought of the consequences. She was too frightened and too excited to think of anything but the dying man, whose face she had not seen as it lay in the deep shadow of the trees. They had put him upon the lounge in Miss Hansford’s front room, where he was breathing heavily and moaning occasionally as if in pain. “Jack! Jack! Mr. Percy!” Miss Hansford kept saying, trying to rouse him to consciousness, but she might as well have talked to a block of wood. The news had spread like wild fire, bringing a crowd of people asking who it was and how it was, but receiving no satisfactory answer. A second doctor, who chanced to be passing, had been summoned, and with the first one was examining the patient. Outside the cottage was the murmur of eager, subdued voices and inside terrible excitement as one after another tried to get a sight of the sufferer. Miss Hansford was now calm and resolute, issuing her orders like a general and ministering to Jack as tenderly as if he had not always been her detestation. “Stand back, can’t you, and give him air, and for heaven’s sake don’t let any more in,” she was saying, when the crowd parted to let Paul Ralston pass. “Who is it?” he asked, making his way to the couch. Laying her hand upon his shoulder and looking steadily into his eyes, Miss Hansford said very low, “It’s Jack. Didn’t you know it?” “Jack! Oh my God!” Paul exclaimed, throwing up his hands and staggering backward. “Who did it? Was it suicide?” At this moment Elithe, who had been sent for another lamp, entered the room, and, seeing Paul, said to him: “Oh, Mr. Ralston! How did it happen? Didn’t you know he was there?” Before Paul could reply Miss Hansford sent Elithe from the room again and followed her. Closing the door and drawing the girl to the farthest corner of the kitchen, she said in a whisper, “Can’t you hold your yawp? Do you want to put a halter round Paul’s neck, telling everybody what you saw?” In her fright Elithe had never thought of implicating Paul by what she said, but now as her aunt’s meaning dawned upon her she seemed to see in a flash the terrible drama in which she was to play so prominent a part. With a cry she dropped into a chair and said faintly, “I saw him, but it was a mistake; he never meant to shoot him. Oh, what can I do?” “Hold your tongue and stay where you are,” was Miss Hansford’s reply, as she went back to the room where the doctors were still at work, with Paul assisting them and occasionally making suggestions. “If he would only go away,” she thought; then, as a sudden inspiration came to her, she asked if any one had told Clarice.