“Weel, Ah’ll go and see,” answered the farmer who, knowing more than his little companion did of the reckless and violent character of the disputants, was in truth as much excited as she was.
“He’s carrying a letter which he said would enrage my father!” cried Freda in a tremulous voice to Barnabas, who was already some paces ahead, running up the hill as fast as he could.
The road lay between stone walls of fair height, and was full of curves and windings; so that it would have been impossible, even in broad daylight, for the farmer to see the two men until he was close upon them. He was not yet out of Freda’s sight when a sharp report, followed by a second, and then by a hoarse cry, broke upon their ears. There was silence for a moment, and then the sound of galloping hoofs upon the snow. A riderless horse, bearing a man’s saddle, came down the hill, with nostrils dilated and frightened eyes. Barnabas, who considered a horse as rather more a fellow-creature than a man, set to work to stop the animal before making his way to the human beings. This accomplished, he tied the horse to the gate of a field a few yards higher up, and quickening his pace again, reached the top of the hill.
Here, in the middle of the road, were two figures, the one prone on the ground, the other kneeling in the snow beside him.
The kneeling man started and rose to his feet as Barnabas came up. He held in his left hand an open letter, and in his right a revolver, which, without resistance, he allowed the farmer to take.
“Captain Mulgrave!”
The Captain only nodded. Barnabas went down in the snow beside the second figure. He was on his face, but Barnabas knew, even before he attempted to raise him, that it was Blewitt, the servant from Oldcastle Farm.
He was dead.
CHAPTER V.
The unfortunate Blewitt had never, in his lifetime, excited the liking or respect of any one. Selfish and mean, he had been tolerated because he was useful to his employers, who mistrusted him, and feared and avoided by the rest of his neighbours. But these facts, so it seemed to Barnabas Ugthorpe, heightened the tragedy of the man-servant’s death. The honest farmer could not have expressed his thought in words, he but felt that the poor wretch whose body lay at his feet had somehow lost his chance forever.