The inky darkness, rendered blacker by contrast with the white wash of moonlight on the road in front, held the struggling group invisible. Had Millie had an inkling of her captor's plan she would have screamed, but intent upon her peace-making desires, she still wished to try gentle methods. Before she realised his intentions, Otis had rammed a handkerchief forcibly against her mouth, and swiftly wound the feather boa she wore round and round her head, forming a most excellent impromptu gag. He was reckless now, and cared only for his revenge, consequences had faded out of sight. Millie, sensible in a flash of her own helplessness and Bert's danger, fought with all her strength.
The light, firm steps came on fast. They were round the corner. Hubert hastened in the moon's full radiance to the darkness where the trap lay for him. Just before he reached the fatal spot, a sound came to the trained ear of the scout—a muffled, indeterminate sound, which was not running water, nor the sound of feet upon a hard road.
Full in the light he stood, a brave target for a bullet; and even as he paused, before he had drawn a breath, there was the report of a revolver, a cry of some kind, a sound of scuffling, a splashing as of someone wading in water; and silence.
He stood bewildered. The idea that somebody had tried to shoot him never suggested itself. He thought it must be poachers, though the report did not sound like a rifle shot, and there were no woods quite near. He at once started to run on and see what had happened; and at once tripped and fell, caught by the unseen wire.
Having fallen with some impetus, he came to the ground heavily; and regained his feet with quite a new impression of some danger imminent, though still he never dreamed that the entanglement had been set for him. His heart flew to Melicent. What of her? She must but a moment ago have passed the spot. His first action was to pull out matches and strike a light. Holding the wax vesta low, he moved slowly forward; and there, on the right hand, in the deep shadow, a motionless form lay upon the ground. A little farther on, a bicycle stood against the wall. Stooping over the girl he saw that his fears were true. It was Melicent who lay there; and beside her, among the grass, he stumbled upon a hard object, which proved to be a revolver. He pocketed this, and stretching out his arms to her—"Millie!" he cried despairingly. He thought at first that she was lying on her face; and experienced a shock of a quite peculiar kind of horror, on finding her head wrapped about with choking feathers. He snatched her into his arms, raising her from the ground; as he did so, a second revolver slipped from her left hand, where she had grasped it, apparently by the muzzle. In the dark he could see nothing; and there overswept him that maddening sense of helplessness which is the worst thing a man can feel. He bore her out from the fatal shadow into the moonlight, laid her upon the thymy turf, and with trembling fingers cut away the brutal gag from her drawn face. Then he saw wet blood upon his sleeve, glistening in the light.
Was she dead? That was the one question. He satisfied himself that she breathed, that her heart beat. Whether the shot had entered her head or her body, he could not say. She was very still; was she dying there, under his eyes, passive, unconscious of his presence—of all the things there were to say, which must for ever rest unsaid? ... His head was whirling. Millie gagged! Millie shot! By whom, and for what conceivable reason?
The bleeding came from the left arm, which was cruelly mangled, the flesh below the elbow being actually singed by the shot. The pistol must have gone off while actually in her hand. Mechanically he began to slit away the white silk sleeve with his pocket-knife, while he wondered dully what he should do, how best help her. If she were going to die, there were just two things for him; to kill the man that killed her, and then to blow out his own brains. He thought she was growing cold....
What could he do? To leave her was impossible; and they were far from help. To carry her to Ilbersdale Grange, or to carry her back up the hill to the Vicarage, seemed equally impracticable. As he turned the question over in his mind, he heard a sound—a rustling, quite near. Turning his head, he looked straight into the eyes of Arnie Lutwyche, who, dripping, had emerged from the river under the bridge, and was creeping towards him on hands and knees.
Quick as thought, Bert pulled out a revolver and covered him. The boy at once knelt up, raising his hands. His face wore a look of terror.
"Is she dead?" he whispered.