“I will not argue the point with you, my lord,” said the Colonel. “May I ask you to—My God! What’s that?”
It was a dull report, followed by the hurrying of feet, and the excitement that would ensue in a barrack at the discharge of fire-arms.
Before the Colonel could reach the door, it was thrown open, and Sir Harry Payne staggered in, white as ashes, and sank into a chair.
“Water!” he exclaimed. “I’m weak yet.”
“What is it? Are you hurt?” cried the Colonel.
“No. Good heavens! how horrible,” faltered the young man with a sob. “Rockley!”
“Rockley?” cried Morton excitedly.
“He has blown out his brains!”