a pistol; but it was at some distance, and he was at first disposed to think he had been mistaken. He had for more than an hour past given up all expectation of the success of the ambush, and was beginning to feel somewhat sleepy. However, he went along in the direction from which the sound had seemed to come, stopping every now and then to look and listen, but detecting nothing; and he was just on the point of abandoning the search, when he saw something dark lying near the foot of the cliff. He took it for a small rock or fallen boulder; but, as he did not remember having before noticed anything of the kind in the place, he came nearer to examine. Until he stood within a yard of it, no suspicion as to what it really was entered his mind. Then in a moment he knew it was a man's body; but even then he thought of a tramp fallen asleep, and not of Henry or of any one he knew. But when he noticed how the body lay—face downward, with one arm doubled under it—he recognized death; and, bending down, he saw the curly hair that could only be Henry's. With that a fit of the horrors took possession of him: he does not know what he did, but thinks he shouted in the dead man's ears, as if to awaken him from that irrevocable sleep; and he felt for his heart, and got his hand smeared with blood. He was thoroughly unmanned, and ran hither and thither, not knowing what to do, but probably hoping to meet John. At length he reflected that I was in my rooms, and without further delay he made a straight line for my door.
He was a ghastly-looking object when (the door being unfastened) I bade him come in. My first idea was that he had himself been attacked and had barely escaped with his life. He was white in the face, hatless, his dress disordered, and his hand bloody; he was shaking all over, like a man chilled to the marrow; and he could not command his tongue to speak clearly. I asked him several questions before getting any coherent or comprehensible reply. At last he said,—
"It's a murder,—that's what it is! And somebody's got to swing for it!"
"Who?" I asked.
"Ah, if I knowed that, wouldn't I tell?"
"Who's murdered, I mean?"
"Lord 'ave mercy on us! Your brother, sir!"
"My brother? John?"
"No, sir, not 'im. Master 'Enry, sir!"
"Henry!" I cried out. I jumped up and caught the man by the breast of his coat. "Henry? murdered?"
"As sure as there's a God in 'eaven, Mr. Frank; and 'e's lyin' under the cliff, on 'is face."
