"Well, well—don't you fire, then, but leave it to me. There; look—look. Now have you any doubt? There he goes; in his cloak. It is—it is——"—"Varney, by Heavens!" cried Tom Eccles.
"Surrender!" shouted Marchdale.
At the instant Sir Francis Varney sprang forward, and made off at a rapid pace across the meadows.
"Fire after him—fire!" cried Marchdale, "or he will escape. My pistol has missed fire. He will be off."
On the impulse of the moment, and thus urged by the voice and the gesture of his companion, Tom Eccles took aim as well as he could, and fired after the retreating form of Sir Francis Varney. His conscience smote him as he heard the report and saw the flash of the large pistol amid the half sort of darkness that was still around.
The effect of the shot was then to him painfully apparent. He saw Varney stop instantly; then make a vain attempt to stagger forward a little, and finally fall heavily to the earth, with all the appearance of one killed upon the spot.
"You have hit him," said Marchdale—"you have hit him. Bravo!"—"I have—hit him."
"Yes, a capital shot, by Jove!"—"I am very sorry."
"Sorry! sorry for ridding the world of such a being! What was in your pistol?"—"A couple of slugs."