“It is very strange,” said Mr. Woodburn. “The question is, how it can have happened? Can the horse have taken alarm as Mr. Drury was pulling at the chain, and kicked him, or pushed him in by backing? A doctor must be fetched in all haste. He cannot revive him, but he may throw some light on the mysterious occurrence. The body must not be moved till he comes, nor anything about him touched.” A guard of trusty men was set over the body and boat, and George Woodburn went off to fetch the doctor. The character of the men set over the body on the boat, which was put off to midstream, and the number of spectators on each bank, was sufficient guarantee that no interference with the corpse would take place. Mr. Woodburn, therefore, slowly returned homewards. George, meantime, had ordered his horse, and, with a heart overwhelmed with grief and consternation, had gone to his mother and sister, who were in a condition not to be described. “But,” said George, “there is a duty that some one must perform—a—a terrible duty; it is to break this awful event to the Drurys. I confess that I am unequal to it, and I must away for the doctor. You, dear mother and sister, cannot bear it.” Both the ladies shook their heads and groaned in agony. “No, no,” said Ann, “impossible.” There was but one person whom George could think of to perform this awful duty, and it must be done at once, or it would reach Bilts’ Farm by a side way—it was Betty Trapps. But Betty at first stoutly refused; she was herself lost in tears and prayers, and said she would sooner be drowned too than carry such ill-tidings. But when she saw George’s distress she said, “Well, what must be, must be,” and at once put on her bonnet and shawl and set out. Betty walked on, wrapped up in her trouble, and making one long prayer the whole way; but how she did it and how she bore it she said afterwards she did not know, but one thing she did know, that nothing should ever induce her to do such an errand, and see such a stunning misery burst upon innocent, loving heads again. The news of such an event flies fast, and when the doctor came with George from Castleborough, for there was none nearer, there was a great crowd of men, women, and children surrounding the ferry, and a hundred different speculations were passing from mouth to mouth as to the catastrophe George Woodburn’s horse showed, by his reeking skin and panting flanks, at what a rate he had ridden, and the doctor’s smoking horse at what a rate they had returned. A solemn silence fell over the crowd as the doctor and George walked through it, and beckoning the boat to the shore, entered upon it, and then had it put back a little from the bank again. The doctor had the drowned man’s vest opened; no wound or bruise was apparent; he drew off his hat, which still, though battered down, was upon his head. A gush of congealing blood followed it, and the hair was matted with gore.