Part 18 (2/2)

'Here, men,' shouted the colonel, 'up with him at once, and home!

Here, put a brace of your guns together, muzzle and lock. Help him to sit on them, Lancelot. There, Harry, put your arms round their necks. Tregarva, hold him up behind. Now then, men, left legs foremost--keep step--march!' And they moved off towards the Priory.

'You seem to know everything, colonel,' said Lancelot.

The colonel did not answer for a moment.

'Lancelot, I learnt this dodge from the only friend I ever had in the world, or ever shall have; and a week after I marched him home to his deathbed in this very way.'

'Paul--Paul Tregarva,' whispered old Harry, 'put your head down here: wipe my mouth, there's a man; it's wet, uncommon wet.' It was his own life-blood. 'I've been a beast to you, Paul. I've hated you, and envied you, and tried to ruin you. And now you've saved my life once this night; and here you be a-nursing of me as my own son might do, if he was here, poor fellow! I've ruined you, Paul; the Lord forgive me!'

'Pray! pray!' said Paul, 'and He will forgive you. He is all mercy.

He pardoned the thief on the cross--'

'No, Paul, no thief,--not so bad as that, I hope, anyhow; never touched a feather of the squire's. But you dropped a song, Paul, a bit of writing.'

Paul turned pale.

'And--the Lord forgive me!--I put it in the squire's fly-book.'

'The Lord forgive you! Amen!' said Paul, solemnly.

Wearily and slowly they stepped on towards the old man's cottage. A messenger had gone on before, and in a few minutes the squire, Mrs.

Lavington, and the girls, were round the bed of their old retainer.

They sent off right and left for the doctor and the vicar; the squire was in a frenzy of rage and grief.

'Don't take on, master, don't take on,' said old Harry, as he lay; while the colonel and Honoria in vain endeavoured to stanch the wound. 'I knowed it would be so, sooner or later; 'tis all in the way of business. They haven't carried off a bird, squire, not a bird; we was too many for 'em--eh, Paul, eh?'

'Where is that cursed doctor?' said the squire. 'Save him, colonel, save him; and I'll give you--'

Alas! the charge of shot at a few feet distance had entered like a bullet, tearing a great ragged hole.--There was no hope, and the colonel knew it; but he said nothing.

'The second keeper,' sighed Argemone, 'who has been killed here!

Oh, Mr. Smith, must this be? Is G.o.d's blessing on all this?'

Lancelot said nothing. The old man lighted up at Argemone's voice.

'There's the beauty, there's the pride of Whitford. And sweet Miss Honor, too,--so kind to nurse a poor old man! But she never would let him teach her to catch perch, would she? She was always too tender-hearted. Ah, squire, when we're dead and gone,--dead and gone,--squire, they'll be the pride of Whitford still! And they'll keep up the old place--won't you, my darlings? And the old name, too! For, you know, there must always be a Lavington in Whitford Priors, till the Nun's pool runs up to Ashy Down.'

'And a curse upon the Lavingtons,' sighed Argemone to herself in an undertone.

Lancelot heard what she said.

The vicar entered, but he was too late. The old man's strength was failing, and his mind began to wander.

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