A hundred yards ahead her gillie had met the running figure, and in a moment he had slung off the creel and started to run towards her, leaving Mr. Osborne to drop down, as if exhausted, in the heather.
“What is it?” she cried as he approached.
“An accident, ma’am,” he said. “I don’t know what.”
Madge did not delay him, but went on towards Mr. Osborne. As she got near he sprang up from his seat.
“Ah, my dear Mrs. Dundas,” he said; “don’t go—don’t go!”
His panting breath made him pause a moment, but he looked at her face of agony and apprehension, and, clenching his hands, went on.
“No, not killed; there is nobody dead. But there has been an accident, a ricochet off one of those rocks. Someone has been—yes, my poor, dear lady, it is your husband. But don’t go; it is terrible.”
But before he could say more to stop her she had passed him, and was running up the hill.
