"My gun!" he replied with an air of assumed surprise. "Oh! certainly; but why do you wish to see it?"
"Because I have a bullet here, that passed within less than an inch of my skull. I'm curious to know who came so near shooting me—by accident."
"My God! I hope it wasn't me."
"Well," I replied, after placing the bullet to the muzzle of his rifle, and satisfying myself it had come from no other, "I can only say that it was you who fired the shot, and let me caution you the next time you go pigeon-shooting to stick to the feathered game, and not select a 'fledgeless puppy' for your mark. I hope you understand me?"
Without waiting for an answer, I turned upon the path, and once more stepping over the bars, went back toward the beech-woods.
I rejoined the pigeon-shooting party with a zest for the sport I had not hitherto felt.
No one was made the wiser of what had happened; nor did I care to communicate to my host, how near he had been to having the expense of providing a coffin for his stranger guest!
On our return to the house we found Miss Woodley alone.
Where was Mr. Bradley? inquired her brother.
He had been there, but had taken his horse, and was gone.