But Hugh was already out of hearing. He had turned at once, and with rapid strides was shortening the distance between him and Lallo's cottage.
As he approached it, he saw a crowd of villagers gathered round the pig-stye, gazing with exclamations of horror at something which lay inside the enclosure. Lallo, weeping bitterly, made one of the crowd. Gwen was nowhere to be seen, being in reality hidden behind the pig-stye, listening with a pleased smile to the various comments of her neighbours.
Lallo's sympathising friends plied her alternately with condolences and questions. A stream of blood ran from under the pig-stye door, and trickled down the rocky road—inside, lying prone on its side, was the pig, with a horrible gash in its throat from which the life-blood was still trickling.
"What is the meaning of this?" said Hugh, looking down at the slaughtered animal.
"'Tis Gwen!—Gwen did it, Mishteer, and then walked quietly into the house, and put the razor on the table! Didn't she, Lallo?"
"She did, she did!" said Lallo, beginning to cry afresh.
"Never mind, Lallo fâch!" said Sara; "you know you had settled to kill him next month."
"Oh, but that's a very different thing. To die at the appointed time, and to be properly salted and dried, every pig expects—but to be hurried unprepared like this is terrible."
"But you can salt him and dry him," said Nell, offering her mite of comfort.
"Can I, do you think?—oh! but I shall never have the heart to do it."