At the tender words of sympathy and the touch of the gentle hands, the woman let her own fall from her face, and stared up appealingly at the speaker.
Claude involuntarily shrank away from the ghastly face, for the hands had printed hideous traces upon the woman’s brow.
The shrinking away was momentary, for, recovering herself. Claude drew her handkerchief from her pocket, to turn in surprise as it was drawn from her hand, but she directly gave Glyddyr a grateful look, as she saw him step to a rough granite trough into which a jet of pure water was pouring from the cliff, and saturating it quickly, he returned the handkerchief to its owner.
But before the blood stains could be removed, the voice of the injured man was heard calling.
“Sarah! Don’t leave me, my girl. He has murdered me.”
The woman gave Claude a wild look, rose from her knees, and tottered back to the cottage as the voice of Gartram was heard in angry retort.
“Its like talking to a madman, Ike Woodham,” came clear and loud; “but you’ve got hurt by your own wilful obstinacy, and you want to throw the blame on me.”
As he spoke, Gartram strode out of the cottage, and then whispered to his child,—
“Come home, my dear. You can do no good.”
“No, no; not yet, papa,” she whispered. “I must try if I can help poor Sarah in her terrible trouble.”