The man cleared his throat. Gerald stared at him with eyes that seemed to see far beyond him--far beyond the room in which they were. "I had been down to King's Harold, sir," began Dixon, "to see Thompson, the farrier, about the chestnut mare, and was riding back, when just as I got to the Beaulieu lodge-gates I see the dog-cart come out with Mr. Pringle the baron's man in it, along with Dr. King, and another gent as was a stranger to me. Seeing the doctor there, and that Mr. Pringle looked very white and scared like, I pulls up. 'Anything amiss, Mr. Pringle?' says I, with a jerk of my thumb towards the house, as the dog-cart passed me. But he only stared at me and shook his head solemn like and drove on without a word. Then I turns to the lodge-keeper's wife and sees that she has her apron over her head, and is crying. 'Anything serous amiss, mum?' says I. 'I don't know what you calls serous, young man,' says she, 'but my poor master, the baron, was found murdered in the little shally in the garden only half an hour since--shot through the heart by some blood-thirsty villain.' I didn't wait to hear more, sir, but made all the haste I could home."
No word spoke Gerald. The man looked at him curiously, almost doubting whether his master had heard a word of what he had said.
"Thank you, Dixon; that will do," said Mrs. Brooke. The man carried a finger to his forehead and made his exit.
"Poor dear baron!" remarked Miss Primby for the second time. "There was something very fascinating in his smile."
"Clara, tell me," said Gerald presently. "Am I in truth awake, or have I only dreamt that Von Rosenberg is dead?"
"How strangely you talk, dear. I am afraid you are ill."
"There you are mistaken. I am well--excellently well. But tell me this: ought I to feel glad, or ought I to feel sorry? On my life, I don't know which I ought to feel!"
"Glad? O Gerald!"
"Ah; I had forgotten. You don't know."
"You no longer confide in me as you used to do."