“Calling the hound, ‘Pink,’ the old man shouldered his double barrel shot gun, and went to Lord Stoner’s by the forest path, lingering by the bridge for some time in deep thought.
“The breeze of early morning began to blow, and early cocks crew salutations that echoed far and near on the quiet landscape.
“Hour followed hour, and neither Clare nor Lady Bray could sleep.
“Clare had prayed longer than usual, and courted sleep, but it came not.
“Lady Bray, on the contrary, had sat in an arm chair, thinking of all manner of things, and pacing her room to and fro.
“At last she went to Clare’s door, and tapped and entered.
“‘Oh, Clare,’ she said, seating herself on the bedside, ‘I feel so miserable! I cannot tell why it is; but that poor youth is always before my eyes! Oh! I am glad you did not see the sight (Clare had done so), it was awful! All his clothes were wet and dirty and bloody, and his face like marble. Oh! what a horrible crime it was! I cannot sleep for thinking of it! Let me lie with you, Clare.’
“And both cousins lay side by side.
“‘What is the matter, Clare?’ said Lady Bray, who felt tear-drops falling on her hand. ‘You are weeping!’
“Clare, who had not spoken, was struggling desperately to conceal her emotion; but nature was strong, and she burst out passionately in sobs.