"Feel his pulse," said the squire. "Listen at his heart." To him it seemed a very simple matter to ascertain whether a man were alive or dead. But John was nervous; he had never seen a dead man in his life and felt that natural repulsion to approaching death which is common to all living creatures. There was no help for it, however, and he took Walter Goddard's limp hand in his and tried to find his pulse; he could not distinguish any beating. The hand fell nerveless to the ground.
"I think he is dead," said John very softly, and he rose to his feet and drew back a little way from the body.
"Then just wait five minutes for me, if you do not mind," said Mr. Juxon, and he turned away dragging the reluctant and still struggling Stamboul by his side.
John shuddered when he was left alone. It was indeed a dismal scene enough. At his feet lay Walter Goddard's body, faintly illuminated by the struggling moonbeams; all around and overhead the east wind was howling and whistling and sighing in the dry oak branches, whirling hither and thither the few brown leaves that had clung to their hold throughout the long winter; the sound of the squire's rapidly retreating footsteps grew more faint in the distance; John felt that he was alone and was very uncomfortable. He would have liked to go back to the cottage and tell Mrs. Goddard of what had happened, and that Mr. Juxon was safe; but he thought the squire might return and find that he had left his post and accuse him of cowardice. He drew back from the man's body and sheltered himself from the wind, leaning against the broad trunk of an old oak tree. He had not stood thus many minutes when he heard the sound of wheels upon the hard road. It might be Mrs. Goddard, he thought. With one more glance at the prostrate body, he turned away and hurried through the trees towards the avenue. The bright lamps of the dog-cart were almost close before him. He shouted to Reynolds.
"Whoa, January!" ejaculated that ancient functionary as he pulled up Strawberry close to John Short. Why the natives of Essex and especially of Billingsfield habitually address their beasts of burden as "January" is a matter best left to the discrimination of philologers; obedient to the familiar words however, Strawberry stood still in the middle of the road. John could see that Mrs. Goddard was seated by the side of Reynolds but that Nellie was not in the cart.
"Oh, Mrs. Goddard, is that you?" said John. "Mr. Juxon will be here in a moment. Don't be frightened—he is not hurt in the least; awfully bad luck for the tramp, though!"
"The tramp?" repeated Mrs. Goddard with a faint cry of horror.
"Yes," said John, whose spirits rose wonderfully in the light of the dog-cart lamps. "There was a poor tramp hanging about the park—poaching, very likely—and Mr. Juxon's dog got after him, somehow, I suppose. I do not know how it happened, but when I came up—oh! here is Mr. Juxon himself—he will tell you all about it."
The squire came up in breathless haste, having locked Stamboul into the house.
"Good Heavens! Mrs. Goddard!" he ejaculated in a tone of profound surprise. But Mrs. Goddard gave no answer. The squire sprang upon the step and looked closely at her. She lay back against old Reynolds's shoulder, very pale, with her eyes shut. It was evident that she had fainted. The old man seemed not to comprehend what had happened; he had never experienced the sensation of having a lady leaning upon his shoulder, and he looked down at her with a half idiotic smile on his deeply furrowed face.