f birds overhead, and the rustling of the leaves. He
sank on one knee, and his hand closed upon the gun. The blood surged
to his head. There was a singing in his ears. He felt his heart
thumping as though he were suddenly seized with some illness.
Rochester's figure, tall, graceful, debonair, notwithstanding the
looseness of his shooting clothes, and his somewhat rigid attitude,
seemed suddenly to loom large and hateful before his eyes. He saw
nothing else. He thought of nothing else. It was the man he hated. It
was the man who understood what he was, the worst side of him--the man
whom his instincts recognised as his ruthless and dangerous enemy.

The rush of a rabbit through the undergrowth, startled him so that he
very nearly screamed. He looked around, pallid, terrified. There was
no one in sight, no sign of any life save animal and insect life in
the wood behind.

The stock of the gun came to his shoulder. His fingers sought the
trigger. Cautiously he thrust it through the bars of the gate. Bending
down, he took a long and deliberate aim. The fates seemed to be on his
side. Rochester suddenly stiffened into attention, his gun came to his
shoulder, as with a loud whir a pheasant flew out of the wood before
him. The two reports rang out almost simultaneously. The pheasant
dropped to the ground like a stone. Rochester's arms went up to the
skies. He gave a little cry and fell over, a huddled heap, upon the
grass.

Saton, with fingers that trembled, tore out the exploded cartridge,
seized another from the bag, thrust it in, and replaced the gun
against the wall. His breath was coming in little sobs. Trees and sky
danced before his eyes. Once he dared to look--only once--at the spot
where Rochester was lying. His hands were outstretched. Once he half
raised himself, and then fell back. From round the corner of the wood
came Pauline. Saton heard her cry--a cry of agony it seemed to him. He
bent low, and made his way back into the plantation, plunging through
the undergrowth until he reached a narrow and little frequented
footpath. He was deaf to all sounds, for the thumping in his ears had
become now like a sledge-hammer beating upon an anvil. He was not sure
that he saw anything. His feet fled over the ground mechanically. Only
when he reached the borders of the wood, and crossed the meadow
leading to the main road, he drew himself a little more upright. He
must remember, he told himself fiercely. He must remember!