She had screamed at the unknown terror, but she uttered no sound now. Before they reached the door she had mechanically thrown on her dress over her nightgown, and had come downstairs, pattering with her bare feet. She flung open the door, and put her arms round her husband, almost as if she grudged him any support but hers.
“My poor little ’ooman!” said Jim brokenly; “I d’ ’low I’m done for.”
With Stubbs’ aid she stretched him on the sofa, and unfastened coat and waistcoat. She drew out her hand from his bosom suddenly, and looked at it with a shudder: it was red!
“Ah, he’s got the whole charge in en somewhere,” groaned Stubbs. “There was a lot of ’em out to-night, and we catched one of ’em; he fought like a devil, he did—’twas in wrestling wi’ him poor Whittle’s gun went off. Dear to be sure, ’tis awful to think on. His own gun!”
“Where’s the man?” asked Betty sharply; her face was as white as a sheet—her lips drawn back from her gleaming teeth.
“Oh, he made off, ye mid be sure,” returned the other. “I don’t know who he was. ’Twas in the thick o’ the trees yonder we come on ’em. Moon had gone in and ’twas as dark as pitch.”
“Do you think my husband will die!” gasped Betty.
“Ah! ’tis a bad job—’tis surely,” responded the other, almost whimpering; “and the worst on’t is we be nigh six mile from a doctor.”
“Oh, Mr. Stubbs,” cried the keeper’s wife earnestly, “let’s do everything we can, any way! Will ye go for the doctor for me? Do! I’ll—I’ll give ye every penny in the house if ye will!”
“Lard! my dear ’ooman, I don’t want no pay for doin’ what I can at sich a time. I’ll go, to be sure, an’ make so much haste as I can; but—won’t ye be afeard to bide here all alone—and him so bad?”