"And what happened here last night? What is the meaning of that—and that?"—pointing at bullet-holes in the walls and the door.
"Why, Launce, have you not heard?"
"I have heard nothing," he says shortly, "about Donaghmore."
She looks at him wonderingly—at his soiled dress, his haggard face and fierce eyes, so unlike the face and eyes of her favorite brother.
"Where have you been all night, Launce? And what has happened to make you look so dreadfully ill and—and strange?"
He has followed her into the morning-room and closed the door behind them.
"I have been to Drum with the body of that fellow who was shot on the moss."
"Oh, Launce, who was he?"
He sinks down upon a chair before he answers her—a man tired in body and mind. Utterly worn out he looks now in the clear strong light.
"He was Mrs. Dundas's friend and guest—her lover, for all I can tell," he says scornfully. "I hope she is proud of him and of the end he has come to. He was shot down like a dog. I heard the cry he gave, I was so close behind him."