The horse reared, and John lashed the madman with his riding-whip, which was his only means of defense. But with a hoarse scream of rage Henderson now closed with him, striking him also on the head with his murderous weapon, and John reeled from his saddle and fell.
“Now I’ve got my revenge!” shrieked Henderson. “You who spoilt my life!”
By this time, however, John Temple had regained his feet, and a fierce struggle ensued between the two men. John was blinded by the blood flowing from the wound on his brow, but still he fought bravely for his life. They wound their arms round each other; they tore, they strained, but Henderson was a more heavily built man than John Temple, and his madness gave him unnatural strength. Finally he forced John down on the ground below him, and struck him with his clenched fist, once more on the head. John Temple’s arms relaxed their grasp; a deadly faintness stole over him, and Henderson gave a hideous laugh. He had won the fight, and he rose triumphant and spurned his enemy with his foot; and then drawing his pocket-knife from his coat, plunged it into John Temple’s breast.
He had scarcely done the murderous deed when he heard hurried footsteps approaching down the roadway, and he at once turned and fled. It was his keeper, from whose care he had escaped, and the man had come out to seek him. The keeper, horrified, now came on John Temple’s prostrate body. He knelt down, he raised the head, and for a moment or two longer John Temple lived.
He breathed once or twice; he whispered one word—“May—” he murmured, and as the name lingered on his lips he died.
Late in the afternoon May awoke from her placid sleep. She had been dreaming, poor child, but not of the dark tragedy that had been enacted in Henley Wood. Yet she awoke with a start and sat up, and then distinctly heard loud, piercing screams of grief ringing through the house. She at once hastily rose, and was approaching the door of her bedroom when it opened, and Miss Webster’s gentle face appeared.
“Oh, Miss Webster, someone is crying so dreadfully; what is it?” asked May.
“There has been an accident, my dear,” faltered Miss Webster, who was very pale.
“An accident?” repeated May, alarmed. “What has happened?”