nintelligible to their fellow-creatures who are made of coarser
material. For the moment, Iris was angry. "Why didn't you tell me of
it," she asked sharply, "before I sent away the carriage? How can I
walk back, with everybody laughing at me?"

She paused--reflected a little--and led the way off the high road, on
the right, to the fine clump of fir-trees which commands the famous
view in that part of the Heath.

"There's but one thing to be done," she said, recovering her good
temper; "we must make my grand bonnet suit itself to my miserable
cloak. You will pull out the feather and rip off the lace (and keep
them for yourself, if you like), and then I ought to look shabby enough
from head to foot, I am sure! No; not here; they may notice us from the
road--and what may the fools not do when they see you tearing the
ornaments off my bonnet! Come down below the trees, where the ground
will hide us."

They had nearly descended the steep slope which leads to the valley,
below the clump of firs, when they were stopped by a terrible
discovery.

Close at their feet, in a hollow of the ground, was stretched the
insensible body of a man. He lay on his side, with his face turned away
from them. An open razor had dropped close by him. Iris stooped over
the prostate man, to examine his face. Blood flowing from a frightful
wound in his throat, was the first thing that she saw. Her eyes closed
instinctively, recoiling from that ghastly sight. The next instant she
opened them again, and saw his face.

Dying or dead, it was the face of Lord Harry.

The shriek that burst from her, on making that horrible discovery, was
heard by two men who were crossing the lower heath at some distance.
They saw the women, and ran to them. One of the men was a labourer; the
other, better dressed, looked like a foreman of works. He was the first
who arrived on the spot.

"Enough to frighten you out of your senses, ladies," he said civilly.
"It's a case of suicide, I should say, by the look of it."

"For God's sake, let us do something to help him!" Iris burst out. "I
know him! I know him!"

Fanny, equal to the emergency, asked Miss Henley for her handkerchief,
joined her own handkerchief to it, and began to bandage the wound. "Try
if his pulse is beating," she said quietly to her mistress. The foreman
made himself useful by examining the suicide's pockets. Iris thought
she could detect a faint fluttering in the pulse. "Is there no doctor
livin