"He was going along the Parade, and ran up against Rockley, and Payne, and Bray; poor chap, he did not salute them, I believe, and Rockley gave him a cut with his whip." "Major Rockley!" cried Claire, with ashy lips. "Yes; and he knocked over Bray and that puppy Payne. Curse them! they were like skittles to him. Fred's full of pluck; and, sis," cried Morton excitedly, as his eyes flashed with pleasure, "he took hold of that black-muzzled, blackguard Rockley, snatched his whip from him, and thrashed him till he couldn't stand." "Fred beat Major Rockley?" cried Claire, with a horrified look, as she realised the consequences forgotten for the moment by the boy. "Yes; thrashed the blackguard soundly; but they followed him with a sergeant and a file or two of men to take him." "Yes. Go on." "They found him at Linnell's, talking to Richard Linnell and--" Morton stopped with white face, and repented that he had said so much. "I must know all," cried Claire, trembling. "I am sure to hear." "I can't tell you," he said hoarsely. "Is it not better that it should come from you than from a stranger?" "It is too horrible, sis," said the lad. "Tell me, Morton, at once." Her words were cold and strange, and she laid her hands upon his shoulders, and gazed into his eyes. The boy winced and hung his head as he said slowly: "They called upon him to surrender, but--" The lad raised his head, and tossing it back, his eyes flashed as he cried in a different tone: "I can't help being proud of him--he was so full of pluck, sis. He wouldn't surrender, but made a bold leap out of the window, and made a run for it; but that beast Bray gave the order, and they shot him down." "Shot him down!" "Yes; but he's not dead, sis--only wounded; but--" "But what? Why do you keep anything from me now?" cried Claire piteously. "It's court-martial, and--it's court-martial for striking your officer, Claire, and he knows it; and, poor fellow, in a desperate fit, so as to get into the hands of the magistrates instead of the officers, to be condemned to death, he--he--Claire, I can't speak if you look at me in that wild way." "Go on!" she said hoarsely. "He said--that it was not father--who killed Lady Teigne--but it was he." Volume Three, Chapter XIX. MORTON BEARS THE NEWS FURTHER. "Do all you can to comfort them, Mrs Barclay, please," said Morton, as he left the house. "It's all so shocking, I don't know what to say or do." "You've done quite right in coming here, my dear," said Mrs Barclay, whose eyes were red with weeping. "I'm afraid I've done more harm than good," said Morton dolefully. "Poor Claire, she's half crazy with what she has to bear." "You told her, then, about your brother Fred?" said Mrs Barclay, in a whisper. The lad nodded. "It was quite right; she would have heard of it, and it was better it should come from you, my dear. Are you--are you going to see your poor father in prison?"