He took up the pistol, looked at it again, critically held it for a minute before him; then took aim, and fired it off. The answer to this was a human cry and a fall; the charge—shot or bullet, which ever it might be—had taken effect on some one but a few paces off. The culprit remained perfectly still for one minute, possibly scared at what he had done; he then quietly put the pistol on the case, crept off on tiptoe amidst the trees, and—came face to face with the new master, Mr. Henry.
Mr. Henry was on his road to the station to order his luggage to the college. He had left it on his arrival, not knowing where he was to lodge. Dr. Brabazon had offered to send a servant, but Mr. Henry coveted the walk in the cool, lovely night; he and his head were alike feverish from the effects of the sea voyage; so they directed him through the plantation, as being the nearest way.
Face to face. But only one glimpse did Mr. Henry catch of the meeting face, for the boy's hand was suddenly raised to cover it, even while he took flight. A moan or two, and then a loud shout for assistance—as if the sufferer, on second thoughts, deemed it would be better to shout than to groan—guided Mr. Henry to the spot. He was lying close by, in an intersecting path of the plantation, a boy of some sixteen years, whose trencher showed he belonged to Orville College.
"Who is it?" asked Mr. Henry.
"Talbot," shortly answered the boy. "I say, though, who are you? How came you to shoot me?"
"It was not I who did it. I heard the shot as I came up. Where are you hurt?"
"In my leg, I think. I can't move it. I only got in by this train, for I missed the one in the afternoon, and was running through here, full pelt, when somebody takes a shot at me! Cool, I must say!"
The master raised him, but the right leg seemed nearly helpless, so he laid him down again, and ran to the college for assistance. But as Mr. Henry was turning away, the white wadding on the bench caught his eye, and he found the pistol and its accessories. These he carried with him.
Dick Loftus, hiding in the distant trees, could bear the suspense no longer. Something was wrong; some untoward event had occurred; and he came forward in disregard of Smart's prayers and entreaties. Dick was of an open honourable nature, in spite of his pursuit of mischief and his impulsive thoughtlessness: he never hesitated to take his escapades on himself, when real necessity arose.
"I'm blest! Why, it's the earl!" he shouted out. "Smart! Smart! come here. It's the Earl of Shrewsbury!"