“I have done it,” said Boddily. “That ivied tree on the island.”
Still all were watching for a reappearance of Scammel. Seconds, minutes—five, ten minutes—went over, when Sir Henry said, “The wretch has escaped us and the gallows. He will not rise again alive. He did not mean it when he went down. Go for the drags to the Hall. Remember, Boddily’s ivied tree. The corpse will be washed more or less downwards from that mark. The water here is very deep.”
There was an awed silence amongst the men in the other boat. The sudden violent death of a human being even of the worst and most ruffianly of our race, falls with a strange sensation on the mind. Sir Henry bade the other boat remain on the look-out. Boddily should put him on shore, and the drags should be quickly brought off.
By this time, every inhabitant of the Hall and parsonage, except Mr. Thomas Clavering, had made their way down to the bank of the river, at the bottom of the park, and some of the house and farm-servants had crossed to the island, and appeared on its shore, all in breathless inquiry. As the boat drew near the shore, Sir Henry saw Lady Clavering in great anxiety and agitation, surrounded by her maids, and with his uncle and Mr. Degge.
“Have you got him?” inquired Mr. Degge.
“No,” replied Sir Henry.
“What! has he escaped, then?”
“Yes,” said Sir Henry; “beyond our pursuit. He is drowned.”
“Drowned!” exclaimed a score of voices; “drowned?”
“Yes,” said Sir Henry, as he stepped on shore; “he is drowned, sure enough; he preferred drowning to the gallows. I can understand his feelings.”