Before they could grasp what was happening the old Squire had extricated himself from the fallen mare, and came staggering across the graves.
“Hide me!—”
He came with both arms outstretched, his face turned sideways. Behind him, from the far side of the wall, came sounds—horrible shuffling sounds—and in the dusk they saw the head of one of the hounds above the coping and his forepaws clinging as he strained to heave himself over.
“Off! Keep ’en off!”
They caught him by both hands, dragged him within, and slammed the door.
“Hide me! Hi—!”
The word ended with a thud as he pitched headlong on the slate pavement. Through the barred door the scream of the mare Nonesuch answered it.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE BARRIERS FALL.
There were marks of teeth on his right boot, but no marks at all on his body. Fright—or fright following on that evening’s frenzy—had killed him.
He was buried three days later, and Mr. Raymond read the service. No rain had fallen, and the blood of the three hounds still stained the gravel dividing the grave from the porch, where the crowd had shot them down.