“This is Captain Lyman,” said Priscilla.
“Lucy she was called at her christening, and she was as innocent as a lamb before he got hold of her. But she killed him—killed him dead—it’s all in that paper—and I didn’t even know that she was in this country, sir. She didn’t come across to kill him; I’ll swear that she didn’t. But maybe it would have been better if I’d told her the truth.”
“The truth is—ah—sometimes justifiable,” said Mr. Liscomb. “This, however, is a clear case of self-defence. She will not be imprisoned for a day.”
“But she loved him, sir,” said Captain Lyman. “What is it makes women love a man like that; can you tell me?”
“Self-defence,” came the voice of the junior partner. “He was following her with a revolver. He had fired three shots, one of them grazed her shoulder. There were two witnesses—she seized the first weapon that came to her hand—he ran upon the prongs.”
“Justifiable, oh, of course,” said the senior partner. He glanced towards Priscilla. “Bad taste to congratulate her,” he whispered to his brother Reggie. “Get them out of this as soon as possible; and send me in a copy of the writ in Farraget’s case. Get rid of the sailor. He’s no credit to the office.”
“I can’t forget her—fair hair and such sweet blue eyes,” resumed Captain Lyman.
“Come along with us, Captain Lyman,” said Priscilla. “Thank heaven we’ve got rid of them so easily,” said the senior Liscomb.
“The woman did the best job for the Wingfields that ever was done for them,” said the junior. “As the case stood, I doubt very much if Sir Gabriel would have given us a decree, and there was no evidence for a divorce. They can get married to-morrow.”
The next edition of the evening papers contained a full account of the opportune killing of Marcus Blaydon by Lucy Lyman. It happened the previous evening in the strawyard of Athalsdean Farm, where Marcus Blaydon was staying with Mr. Wadhurst. Three of the yardmen saw the woman enter and enquire for Mr. Blaydon; and she had gone, according to their direction, into one of the outhouses where he had been superintending some work, for it seemed that Farmer Wadhurst did not allow him to eat the bread of idleness. The men shortly afterwards heard the sound as of an altercation, and then of a shot. The woman rushed out shrieking, and Blaydon came after her, with a revolver, from which he fired two more shots at her. He was overtaking her when she picked up one of the two-pronged forks with which the bundles of straw were tossed from the carts, and turned upon him with it. He was in the act of rushing at her, but he never reached her; he rushed upon the two prongs of the fork and fell dead at her feet.