She staunched the blood flowing from the wound, and tenderly knelt by his side and lifted his head gently on her bosom.
There was a slight break in the branches of the trees overhead, so that what little light there was, streamed through the gap full down on the spot where Mrs. Archer knelt.
She raised his coat sleeve, and baring his arm, bent down her head over it.
A moment after a wild cry rent the air, and rang through the wood.
"Oh! help! help!" she cried; "Oh! my son! my son!"
There was no need to cry for help; the sound of the gun had been heard, and the keepers came crowding to the spot, and with them, Marks.
A litter was soon constructed for the wounded man, and once more he was mournfully and sorrowfully borne away towards the Hall.
Marks drew near the captured poacher, now standing sullenly and silently near.
"Ah!" said Marks, as he was being led away, "I thought no good had brought farmer Hodge down here, four years ago. You'll may be swing for this, my lad; and break your father's heart, as you did your mother's, not so long ago."
With which consolatory remark, Marks went back to his cottage.