When Bideabout arrived in the Punch-Bowl, as he passed the house of the Rocliffes, he saw his sister, with a pail, coming from the cow-house. One of the cattle was ill, and she had been carrying it a bran-mash. He went to her, and said, "Sally!" "Here I be, Jonas, what now?" "I want you badly at my place. There's been an accident." "What? To whom? Not to old Clutch?" "Old Clutch be bothered. It is I be hurted terr'ble bad. In my arm. If it weren't dark here, under the trees, you'd see the blood." "I'll come direct. That's just about it. When she's wanted, your wife is elsewhere. When she ain't, she's all over the shop. I'll clap down the pail inside. You go on and I'll follow." Jonas unlocked his house, and entered. He groped about for the tinder-box, but when he had found it was unable to strike a light with one hand only. He seated himself in the dark, and fell into a cold sweat. Not only was he in great pain, but his mind was ill at ease, full of vague terrors. There was something in the corner that he could see, slightly stirring. A little moonlight entered, and a fold flickered in the ray, then disappeared again. Again something came within the light. Was it a foot? Was it the bottom of a skirt? He shrank back against the wall, as far as possible from this mysterious, restless form. He looked round to see that the scullery door was open, through which to escape, should this thing move towards him. The sow was grunting and squealing in her stye, Jonas hailed the sound; there was nothing alarming in that. Had all been still in and about the house, there might have come from that undefined shadow in the comer a voice, a groan, a sigh--he knew not what. With an exclamation of relief he saw the flash of Sally Rocliffe's lantern pass the window. Next moment she stood in the doorway. "Where are you, Jonas?" "I am here. Hold up the lantern, Sarah. What's that in the corner there, movin'?" "Where, Jonas?" "There--you are almost touchin it. Turn the light." "That," said his sister; "why don'ty know your own old oilcloth overcoat as was father's, don'ty know that when you see it?" "I didn't see it, but indistinct like," answered Jonas. His courage, his strength, his insolence were gone out of him. "Now, what's up?" asked Sarah. "How have you been hurted?" Jonas told a rambling story. He had been in the Marsh. He had seen the deer, but in his haste to get within range he had run, caught his foot in a bramble, had stumbled, and the gun had been discharged, and the bullet had entered his arm. Mrs. Rocliffe at once came to him to examine the wound. "Why, Jonas, you never did this up yourself. There's some one been at your arm already. Here's this band be off Matabel's petticoat. How came you by that?" He was confounded, and remained silent. "And where is the gun, Jonas?" "The gun!"