side with one hand as if he were a straw. Then for a minute he looked
at the prostrate man in silence; once he raised the gun by the muzzle,
then he threw it aside, and, kneeling beside the clergyman, placed his
face close to his.

'You dog, you dog, you damned dog! I could choke you now as you lie, you
brute beast. But I will let you live, to go to hell in God's own time,
you cruel, flogging wretch! _You_ murdered Thomas May--his rotting body
is not a hundred yards away. May the stink of it reach the nostrils of
Almighty God--and be in yours for ever!'

He rose quickly, took the saddle and bridle off the clergyman's horse,
and, striking the animal a sharp blow on the nose, sent it galloping
away into the forest; then he returned and again stood over Mr Sampson,
his face working with the violence of his passion.

'Are you going to murder me?' the minister asked gaspingly.

'No,' he replied savagely, kicking him again and again in the face, 'but
lie there, you bloody-minded swab, till I tell you you can go.'

And then, his passion spent, he turned to us with outstretched hand,--

'God bless you all, young gentlemen! God bless you, Master Harry! and
your good mother and Miss Frances and little Miss Olive. I am done for
now. But tell Ruth that if I am taken I'll die a man. And tell her,
Master Harry, that--that--'

My brother grasped his trembling hand, as for a moment he stood, gun in
hand, and swayed to and fro as if he were like to fall. Then he plunged
into the forest.

* * * * *

One night, three weeks after this, and whilst Mr Sampson was recovering
from his injuries, and a force of constables, with a black tracker, were
scouring the country for Walter, my mother called we children to her
bedroom. She had retired, but Ruth Kenna, with tears in her blue Irish
eyes, stood beside the bed.

'Quick, children,' said my mother, in a whisper, 'Ruth is going away.
Quick, quick; kiss her goodbye.'

And then whilst we, wondering, put our arms around dear Ruth, my mother
slipped out of bed, and taking some money out of a cabinet, put it into
the girl's hand, and said,--

'Good-bye, Ruth. You've been an honest girl to us. May God bless and
keep you always, my dear child, and do not fail to write.'

* * * * *

Next morning there was a great to-do, for Patrick Kenna's house was
found to be empty, and he and his daughter and Walter Trenfield were
never