It was too late. A wild look flew into the eyes of the dying man and fixed them on the rector’s face. A torrent of blood gushed from his mouth. Gentleman Geff had spoken his last words, and in a very few minutes he had drawn his last breath.
Jennie threw herself sobbing into the arms of her father. She was too young to have much self-control, but whether now she wept from grief, horror or compassion, or all three combined, she could not herself have told.
Her father took her babe to his bosom and led her to her own room, where he made her lie down on her bed and placed the child beside her.
The rector went to his study and wrote a letter to the steward at Engelwode, telling him what had happened.
Then he walked over to Haymore Hall to carry the news to Mr. Randolph Hay and to confer with him on what was next to be done.
Ran and Judy were both shocked and grieved at the fate of their enemy—their enemy, however, only in so far as he tried to wrong them primarily with the wish to benefit himself rather than to injure them.
“The remains should be taken to Engelwode Castle and placed in the family vault, of course,” said the rector. “And as the last earl died without having had time to make a will between his succession and his death, my granddaughter, the little countess, will be a ward in chancery.”
“And no doubt the lord chancellor will constitute you, sir, the guardian of her person and a trustee of her estate,” added Ran.
“Perhaps—most likely, indeed; in which case they will associate some other reliable man with me in the onerous charge. And I should like you to be that man, Hay,” pleaded the parson.
“With pleasure; if the lord chancellor will appoint me,” answered Ran.