Cullen, the manservant, had come out on the steps looking after her, for he was sweet on the pert little maid, and as she returned he accosted her with some smiling pleasantry, to which she was about to give a coquettish answer, when the sudden boom of the pistol shot made her jump almost half a yard high, while she clapped her hands over her ears, shrieking:
“Ouch! what was that?”
“Somebody shooting at ye, maybe,” returned the man, whose firmer nerves made him receive the shock more coolly; and he continued: “Come to my arms, honey, and let me protect you.”
She repulsed him with a coquettish fling, and they both turned and looked in the direction of the arbor, from whence the sound had proceeded.
But the thick shrubberies that dotted the grounds hid from sight the figure of the jealous lover running madly from the scene of the crime he had committed in the height of unreasoning passion.
Suddenly Letty Green grew very pale, and clutched at Cullen for actual support, whispering in awestruck tones:
“Cullen, I’m that nervous I can hardly stand on my feet! I—I—have such an awful sus-suspicion! Suppose that pretty young girl has shot herself in the arbor because her lover’s run away?”
“Let us go and see,” he replied, pulling her hand through his arm, for she was really trembling very much. Thus, arm in arm, he very loverlike, she pretending to pull away from him, and protesting that she daren’t look, they proceeded to the arbor, where they found Annette lying like one dead, outstretched on the ground, with a thin stream of blood pouring from her breast, staining her light silk gown and creamy laces with a gory crimson.
“I said so—I told you so! She’s gone and killed herself!” whimpered Letty, clinging to him for sympathy, the tears welling into her keen black eyes.
“She’s dead, sure enough, I’m afraid,” returned Cullen, jumping to conclusions without examination. Then he cast a glance upon the ground, adding: “But I don’t see the weapon as she done it with.”