-and Joan fell, shot
through the heart. In the first awful moment no one seemed able to
grasp the appalling fact. Peter threw himself down on his knees beside
her, and was like a man struck dazed and speechless. He had a feeling
that it was some horrible dream or hallucination, and presently this
bewildering dazed sense would pass away and he would find the horror
had not been real. Then across his torment he heard a voice that stung
him alive with dreadful venom. His uncle and his brother had climbed
the fence and had come to see what had happened, hearing from a scared
keeper that someone was shot. Peter looked up and saw them. It was a
dreadful moment for the three to meet. His friend, Maitland, seeing
the unnatural ferocity in his eyes, tried to draw him away. Even
Richard Carew, the uncle, looked a little alarmed. But Peter in his
madness took a step forward. "You cur, you libelled her," he hissed at
his brother, and cursed him bitterly. And then Geoffrey lost his head
too. An ugly sneer distorted his face as he answered, "Well, anyhow,
you won't get your inheritance back now, just through a casual shot.
Lady Lilton is going to marry me, and ..." But he had no time to
finish, for Peter suddenly hurled himself upon him, and struggled
fiercely to get his hands at his throat.

The scene was terrible. Those who were present never forgot it, and by
the time a keeper and Maitland managed to separate them Geoffrey was
too much hurt to stand alone. They left him lying on the ground, while
Richard Carew forced a little brandy between his clenched teeth, and
Maitland dragged Peter away to where his wife and a keeper were
watching with horror in their eyes beside Joan's lifeless form. For a
moment they feared he had lost his reason, and then some dreadful
tension in his brain seemed to snap suddenly and they saw he was
himself again. Without a word to either of them he stooped down and
lifted the still form in his arms, and carried her unaided back to
the Maitlands' house.

He did not lose hold of himself again, but for weeks suffered a mind
agony that might well have permanently turned the brain of a weaker
man. Night after night the Maitlands heard him leave the house, after
all had gone to bed; and they knew that he went out to tramp the moors
till morning, for it was only from utter physical exhaustion he ever
slept. No word came from the Hall, but rumour said the younger brother
was injured so that he would not walk fo