He laid the body down gently, reverently, and looked at his watch.
Bartley Bradstone rose to his knees.
“What are you going to do?” he demanded, hoarsely. “Are you—are you going to betray me?”
Faradeane stood looking down at the still form, scarcely seeming to hear him.
“Are you? Are you?” persisted the wretch. “Think, for Heaven’s sake, think! It isn’t for me! It isn’t for me! I don’t care what becomes of me! No, I don’t. They—they may hang me when they like! But it’s her—Olivia——”
Faradeane started, and turned his eyes upon him.
“It’s of her I’m thinking; and you’d—you’d better remember her, too. If—if I’m taken it will kill her with—with shame. You know that! Oh, be quick, for God’s sake! I—I can get away if—if you’ll help me. There’s—there’s time even now,” he panted, in a frenzied tone. “Nobody knows she was here, nobody heard the—the shot! She won’t be missed till I’m clear away! For her sake—for Olivia’s, Faradeane. I know you love her.”
“Silence!” broke from Faradeane’s white lips. He turned his back upon him, as if the sight of him was more than he could endure.
The leaves rustled overhead, the noise of the villagers over on the lawn came faintly on the breeze, mingling with the joyous music of the bells—Olivia’s wedding bells!
Suddenly he turned as if he had made his decision, and Bradstone, who had been watching him, caught a shred of hope from something in his face.