ss?"

Bideabout was uneasy. The tale he had told was untenable. There
was a necessity for it to be supplemented. But his condition of
alarm and pain made him unable readily to frame a story that would
account for all, and satisfy his sister.

"Jonas," said Sarah, "I'm sure you have seen Matabel, and she did
this for you. Where is she?"

Bideabout trembled. He thrust his sister from him, saying,
irritably, "Why do you worrit me with questions? My arm wants
attendin' to."

"I can't do much to that," answered the woman. "A doctor should
look to that. I'll go and call Samuel, and bid him ride away after
one."

"I won't be left alone!" exclaimed the Broom-Squire, in a sudden
access of terror.

Sarah Rocliffe deliberately took the lantern and held it to his face.

"Jonas," she said, "I'll do nuthin' more for you till I know the
whole truth. You've seen your wife and there's somethin' passed
between you. I see by your manner that all is not right. Where is
Matabel? You haven't been after the deer on the Moor. You have been
to the Ship."

"That is a lie," answered Bideabout. "I have been on the Moor. 'Tis
there I got shot, and, if you will have it all out, it was Matabel
who shot me."

"Matabel shot you?"

"Yes, it was. She shot me to prevent me from killin' him."

"Whom?"

"You know--that painter fellow."

"So that is the truth? Then where is she?"

The Broom-Squire hesitated and moved his feet uneasily.

"Jonas," said his sister, "I will know all."

"Then know it," he answered angrily. "Somehow, as she was helpin'
me along, her foot slipped and she fell into the water. I had but
one arm, and I were stiff wi' pains. What could I do? I did what
I could, but that weren't much. I couldn't draw her out o' the
mire. That would take a man wi' two good arms, and she was able
to scramble out if she liked. But she's that perverse, there's no
knowing, she might drown herself just to spite me."

"Why did you not speak of that at once?"

"Arn't I hurted terr'ble bad? Arn't I got a broken arm or somethin'
like it? When a chap is in racks o' pain he han't got all his wits
about him. I know I wanted help, for myself, first, and next, for
her; and now I've told you that she's in the Moor somewhere. She
may ha' crawled out, or she may be lyin' there. I run on, so fast
as possible, in my condition, to call for help."

"Where is she? Where did you leave her?"

"Right along between here and Thor's Stone. There's an ol