Agnes pressed her hand over her eyes to shut out the sight, fearing to see him fall, her heart rising up to accuse her. She had forgotten to warn him! She had forgotten!
Boyle’s voice roused her. There was a dry harshness in it, a hoarseness as of one who has gone long without water on the lips.
“Bring that lantern here!” he commanded.
She did not stand to debate it, but took up the light and hurried to the place where he stood. A man lay at his feet, his long hair tossed in disorder, his long coat spread out like a black blotch upon the ground. Boyle took the lantern and bent over the victim of his steady arm, growled in his throat, and bent lower. The man’s face was partly hidden by the rank grass in which he lay. Boyle turned it up to the light with his foot and straightened his back with a grunt of disdain.
“Huh! That rabbit!” said he, giving her back the light.
It did not require that gleam upon the white face to tell Agnes that the victim was the polemical sheep-herder, whose intention had been steadier than his aim.
Boyle hesitated a moment as if to speak to her, but said nothing before he turned and walked away.
“You’ve killed him!” she called after him sharply. 253 “Don’t go away and leave him here like this!”
“He’s not dead,” said Boyle. “Don’t you hear him snort?”
The man’s breathing was indeed audible, and growing louder with each labored inspiration.