"Stop! stop!" shouted Charles, "we are not highwaymen."
The Beau recognized the voice, and in accents wherein could be detected the faintest note of relief said:
"Charles—Mr. Lovely! and why, may I inquire, are you abroad on such an unpleasant night?"
"Why, sir," called out Charles, "what have you been about? There's a dead man lying in the road."
"Good G——!" said Mr. Ripple, "a dead man?"
"Bring a lamp," called Clare.
Pridgeon descended from the box and, having tied the horses to a withered fir-tree, snatched one of the lamps from its socket.
As he came along, Charles observed by the wavering light primroses in flower.
"Surely, surely," said the Beau, "I cannot have killed this man."
"N! No!" cried Clare who was kneeling beside the body. "He has been dead some time. Z—— ds! 'Tis the little Major."