He fell upon his knees one moment, and prayed with a dead hand in his own. He knew, of course, that the soul was gone, a distance thought can never gaze; but prayer flies best in darkness.
Then, with the tears all down his cheeks, he looked round once, as if to mark the things he would have to tell of. In front of the corpse lay the favourite gun, with the muzzle plunged into the bushes, as if the owner had fallen with the piece raised to his shoulder. The hammer of one barrel was cocked, of the other on half–cock only; both the nipples were capped, and, of course, both barrels loaded. The line of its fire was not towards Cradock, but commanded a little by–path leading into the heart of the wood.
Meanwhile, Cradock had fallen forward from the steep brow of the hedge–bank; the branch to which he clung in that staggering way had broken. Slowly he rose from the ground, and still intent and horror–struck, unable to come nearer, looked more like one of the smitten trees which they call in the forest “dead men”, than a living and breathing body. John Rosedew, not knowing what he did, ran to the wretched fellow, and tried to take his hand, but the offer was quite unnoticed. With his eyes still fixed on his twin–brotherʼs corpse, the youth began fumbling clumsily in the pocket of his shooting–coat; he pulled out a powder–flask, and rapidly, never once looking at it, dropped a charge into either barrel. John heard the click of the spring—one, two, as quick as he could have said it. Then the young man drew from his waistcoat–pocket two thick patent wads, and squeezed one into either cylinder. All at once it struck poor “Uncle John” what he was going to do. Preparing to shoot himself!
“Cradock, my boy, is this all the fear of God I have taught you”?
Cradock looked at him curiously, and nodded his head in acknowledgment. It was plain that his wits were wandering. The parson immediately seized the gun, and sowed the powder broadcast, then wrenched the flask away from him with a hand there was no resisting. Then for the first time he observed Caldo in the hedge, “down–charging”; the well–trained dog had never moved from the moment his master fired.
“Come with me at once, come home, Cradock; boy, you shall come home with me”!
But the man of threescore was not quick enough for the young despair. Cradock was out of sight in the thicket, and Caldo galloped after him. Wild with himself for his slowness of wit, John Rosedew ran to poor Claytonʼs gun, for fear of his brother finding it. Then he took from the dead boyʼs pocket his new and burnished powder–flask, though it went to his heart to do it, and leaped upon the back of Coræbus, without a thought of Xenophon. Only Wena was left to keep her poor master company.
How the rector got to the Hall I know not, neither has he any recollection; but he must have sat his horse like a Nimrod, and taken a hedge and two ditches. All we know is that he did get there, with Coræbus as frightened as he was, and returned to the place of disaster and death, with three men, of whom Dr. Hutton was one. Sir Cradock was not yet come back to his home, and the servants received proper orders.
As the four men, walking in awe and sorrow, cast the light of a lamp through the bushes, they heard a quick rustle of underwood, and crackle of the dead twigs, but saw no one moving.