spair seemed to close him in, and he
knelt there as it stunned--unable to think, unable to move. He could
only gaze down at the pale, rigid features before him, drawing back
involuntarily at last as he awoke to the fact that his companion had
been down to the river to fill his hat with water, with which he began
to bathe Mark Frayne's face.

Then came a buzz of voices as boys and men approached. Two or three
people began at once to ask questions, which Richard Frayne could not
answer, while his companion's replies were confused and wild.

"Yes, he's dead enough," said someone, coarsely, and the words seemed to
echo through Richard's brain.

Then there was hurried talk about carrying him back to the town, calls
for a gate or a shutter, and the little crowd constantly on the
increase, till the pressure grew suffocating.

At last someone shouted--

"Here he is!" and Richard was conscious of a tall figure in black
forcing its way through the crowd, scolding and ordering the people to
keep back.

"How did this happen?" someone said, sharply; and Richard gazed up at
the speaker, but made no reply, only stared with dilated eyes as a rapid
examination was made and the rough bandage replaced.

Then, in a dreamy way, Richard Frayne saw that his cousin was lifted on
to a gate, and a ragged kind of procession was formed, as the men who
had raised the bars on to their shoulders stepped off together under the
doctor's direction; while he seemed to be, as the nearest relative,
playing the part of chief mourner.

That march back appeared endless. People joined in, others stood in
front of house and shop; and the buzzing of voices increased till,
panting and flurried, the great heavy figure of Mr Draycott was seen
approaching without his hat.

"Much hurt?"

"Can't say yet, for certain," rang ominously in Richard's ears. "Fear
the worst! I want Mr Shrubsole to be fetched!"

"I'll go, sir; I'll go!" came from a couple of boys; and then Richard
felt Mr Draycott's heavy hand upon his shoulder as they still went on.

"A terrible business, Frayne; a terrible business!" he said; and for the
rest of the distance to the gate of the carriage drive these words kept
on repeating themselves to the beat of feet and the buzz and angry
excitement, as one of the policemen who had hurried up refused to let
the crowd follow to the hall-door.

Then, still in the dreamy, confused way as of one half-stunned, Richard
Frayne paced up and