He had forgotten all about it in his panic. Mehetabel had been carrying it when he beat her down. He had thought of it no more. He had thought of nothing after the deed, but how to escape from the spot as speedily as possible. "I suppose I've lost it," he said. "Somewhere in the Moor. You see when I was wounded, I hadn't the head to think of anything else." Mrs. Rocliffe was examining his arm. The sleeve of his coat had been cut. "I don't understand your tale a scrap, Jonas," she said. "Who used his knife to slit up your sleeve? And how comes your arm to be bandaged with this bit of Matabel's dress?" Bideabout was uneasy. The tale he had told was untenable. There was a necessity for it to be supplemented. But his condition of alarm and pain made him unable readily to frame a story that would account for all, and satisfy his sister. "Jonas," said Sarah, "I'm sure you have seen Matabel, and she did this for you. Where is she?" Bideabout trembled. He thrust his sister from him, saying, irritably, "Why do you worrit me with questions? My arm wants attendin' to." "I can't do much to that," answered the woman. "A doctor should look to that. I'll go and call Samuel, and bid him ride away after one." "I won't be left alone!" exclaimed the Broom-Squire, in a sudden access of terror. Sarah Rocliffe deliberately took the lantern and held it to his face. "Jonas," she said, "I'll do nuthin' more for you till I know the whole truth. You've seen your wife and there's somethin' passed between you. I see by your manner that all is not right. Where is Matabel? You haven't been after the deer on the Moor. You have been to the Ship." "That is a lie," answered Bideabout. "I have been on the Moor. 'Tis there I got shot, and, if you will have it all out, it was Matabel who shot me." "Matabel shot you?" "Yes, it was. She shot me to prevent me from killin' him." "Whom?" "You know--that painter fellow." "So that is the truth? Then where is she?" The Broom-Squire hesitated and moved his feet uneasily. "Jonas," said his sister, "I will know all." "Then know it," he answered angrily. "Somehow, as she was helpin' me along, her foot slipped and she fell into the water. I had but one arm, and I were stiff wi' pains. What could I do? I did what I could, but that weren't much. I couldn't draw her out o' the mire. That would take a man wi' two good arms, and she was able to scramble out if she liked. But she's that perverse, there's no knowing, she might drown herself just to spite me." "Why did you not speak of that at once?" "Arn't I hurted terr'ble bad? Arn't I got a broken arm or somethin' like it? When a chap is in racks o' pain he han't got all his wits about him. I know I wanted help, for myself, first, and next, for her; and now I've told you that she's in the Moor somewhere. She may ha' crawled out, or she may be lyin' there. I run on, so fast as possible, in my condition, to call for help." "Where is she? Where did you leave her?"