and on me!'

Jack stood motionless as one in a dream. Blood was streaming down his
cheeks from a cut in the temple, and his face was almost as wan and
livid as that which was turned up to the darkened sky, on which the
pitiless hailstones danced and leaped, unheeded and unfelt.

Thus they stood, when steps were heard plodding down the hill, and old
Silas, the shepherd from Bishop's Farm, came up.

'What's to do?' he said. 'Miss Biddy, my dear, what's to do?'

'Get a doctor,' she gasped. 'They have had a fight, and--he is--hurt.'

'Dead,' Silas said, looking down at Mr Bayfield as he had looked down on
the lamb a year ago, 'dead. His skull is cracked, I'll warrant.'

'Oh, go for a doctor, Jack. Run quick to Bristol and send a doctor. Oh,
Jack! Jack!'

Her voice seemed to wake Jack from his stupor.

'Yes,' he said, 'I'll send a doctor. Yes. Good-bye, Bryda, good-bye,
and--' Jack covered his face with his hands, and sobs shook his large
frame. 'He angered me past bearing, Bryda. I did it for your sake,' he
sobbed. 'Say one word to me before I go.'

'Oh, Jack! Jack! What can I say except God forgive you?' She laid her
little hand tenderly on Jack's fingers, through which the tears were
trickling, and repeated, 'Yes, God forgive you and help _me_.'

* * * * *

It fell out that Jack Henderson, running headlong down the hill, met a
village doctor, in his high gig, returning from a long and weary round
of country visits.

Jack hailed him, and the doctor drew up his tired nag.

'There's a man lying on the hill half a mile up the road. Go to him
quick--it's life or death.'

'Why, you are covered with blood, young man,' the doctor said, as Jack
flew past on his downward way to Bristol. 'I say,' he shouted, 'come
back. I may want help.'

But Jack took no heed, and the doctor, whipping up his old mare, soon
reached the place where Mr Bayfield lay.

The storm-cloud had passed, and again there was a gleam of sunshine
flooding the country side with fitful radiance.

When the doctor leaped down from his gig he found Bryda alone, kneeling
by the motionless form. Silas had gone, at her bidding, down the by-road
which branched off the highway, where she remembered she had heard Mr
Bayfield say a horse and gig were waiting.

'Is he dead? Oh, say he is not dead!' Bryda moaned. 'Say he is not
dead!'

But the doctor did not reply. He unfastened the high cravat, with its
lace ends, unbutton