Deering misunderstood his momentary stunned silence, and added with a sneer: "I am master of your fate. Find a way out of the dilemma if you can."
"There is one way left," cried Lambert hoarsely; and snatching a revolver from his breast-pocket, he fired almost before he ceased to speak.
The ball pierced Deering's right temple. With a groan he fell to the ground, dead, helpless, harmless!
Lambert stood quite still for an instant, his pistol still held out, waiting lest Deering might rise and attack him, but his enemy was quieted forever. Lambert then put up his own weapon carefully, and bending over the prostrate form, took out the pocket-revolver to which Deering had alluded. Examining it he found the six chambers loaded, then aiming low into the brushwood, he discharged one of them, and laid the pistol at a short distance from the dead man's outstretched right arm, as though it had fallen from his hand: all this with singular mechanical deliberateness. Then he turned and walked briskly, not hurriedly, back to the little inn.
A great deadly calm had fallen upon him. There was no more danger from Deering, nothing to fear from his vile projects; but he, Lambert, had died too, he had done that of which he dreaded being falsely accused. He had done with life, but at least he had cleared a venomous beast out of his darling's path; nothing now remained but to efface himself.
"None will ever know the exact truth, and my jewel will always believe the best of me; time will heal up her wounds, ay, soon, soon." He paused and looked round him. How beautiful the country looked; how sweet the air, laden with the odor of violets and fresh grass! He had loved life, and enjoyed it, and done his best in his own rough way, and now he firmly believed he was doing his best still. No horror at his own act thrilled him; he had but executed wild justice. His thoughts grew strangely confused. He fancied at intervals he was going back to Paris to his little home there, and that he would find Elsie at the piano, and Madame Weber knitting. Then he would pull himself together, and think hard of a certain plan he was trying to mature.
Reaching the little inn he called for his horse, and asked for a glass of ale.
"You'll have to ride sharp," said the landlord, as Lambert paid his bill. "I thought you wouldn't be back in time; that's what you artist gentlemen don't think of. We've lots of 'em sketching about Denham woods in summer-time."
"Ah! few have done so complete a bit of work as I have," returned Lambert grimly, as he started at a quick trot.
His horse was fresh and free, and did the distance to Earlshall within the time allowed by his rider. The hostler remarked that the gentleman must have been took ill or summat, he had such a ghastly, dazed look in his face. "Anyway, he did not forget to tip me handsome afore he ran off to catch the train."