He got no further. We had emerged from the shady walk into the moonlit path leading down to the pier. The two sentinels were just discernible ahead, and the footsteps of the two behind followed us close. There was no other sound in the stillness but his honour’s quavering voice, and nothing stirring but the leaves of the trees and the waves of the lough as they broke gently on the beach.
Suddenly there rang out from the water’s edge the sharp crack of a gun, followed by a wild howl. Mr Gorman staggered forward a pace and fell on his face. There was a rapid swish of oars, two hurried shots from the sentries, and the phantom of a little boat as it darted out across the moon track and lost itself in the blackness of the shadows.
In a moment I was kneeling beside the body of the poor dying man. The shot had struck him in the breast, and the life-blood was oozing away fast. He was conscious as we tried to lift him.
“Let me lie here,” said he. “I’m safe here now.”
But by this time the soldiers had him in their arms, and were bearing him gently towards the house.
It was little a doctor could do if we had one, but a soldier was sent to Fahan to bring one, and to take word of the murder. Meanwhile we laid him on his bed, and I did what I could to stanch the bleeding and ease his suffering.
For half-an-hour he lay in a sort of stupor. Then he said,—
“Gallagher, I want to speak—Send the others away—no, keep one for a witness.”
We did as he desired, and waited for what was to come.
Several minutes passed; then he tried to lift his head, and said,—