“Yes, it is he!”
“How did it happen, sir?” asked Robert, a frightful suspicion entering his mind.
“I know no better than you, my boy. I have just arrived from an evening trip on the water. I was about to enter my quarters when I stumbled over your uncle’s body.”
“What could have brought him here?”
“I cannot tell, nor can I conjecture who killed him.”
“It can’t be he,” thought Robert, dismissing his fleeting suspicion. “What shall I do, sir?” he asked, unprepared, with his boyish inexperience, to decide what to do under such terrible circumstances.
“Go and summon some of your neighbors to carry the poor man to his home. Meanwhile break the news to your aunt as you best can,” said the hermit in a tone of quiet decision.
“But should I not call the doctor?”
“It will be of no avail. Your uncle is past the help of any physician. Go, and I will stay here till you return.”
The startling news which Robert brought to the fishermen served to bring men, women and children to the spot where John Trafton lay, ghastly with blood.