“Good God, Sherbrooke!” he exclaimed, advancing towards him at length—­“can it be you?”

“And I may well ask, Wilton, if it be you,” said Lord Sherbrooke, in a tone so sharp and angry, so unlike his usual voice and manner of speaking, that Wilton drew back astonished, imagining that he had given his friend some unknown offence.  But Lord Sherbrooke grasped his arm, exclaiming, “Hark!  There they are!  They are close upon us, Wilton!  I have fallen in with a nest of Jacobites, I fancy, ready for an outbreak, and they are after me.  Have you any arms?”

“Here are plenty of pistols, my lord,” said the Messenger, who knew him.

“Ah, Arden, is that you?” he exclaimed.  “Give me a pistol!” and he took one from the Messenger’s hand.  “Here are three of us now, Wilton,” he exclaimed, with a laugh, “and one of us a Messenger:  enough surely for any dozen Jacobites in England.”

There was something wild, hasty, and strange in Lord Sherbrooke’s manner, which startled and alarmed Wilton a good deal.

“For Heaven’s sake, Sherbrooke,” he said, “do nothing rashly.  Let us see who they are before you act.”

“Oh, I will do nothing rash,” replied Sherbrooke.  “But here they come! just like Jacobites, gabbling at every step.  Who goes there, my masters?” he exclaimed, at the same moment.  “Don’t advance, don’t advance!  We are armed!  The first man that advances, I shoot upon the spot!”

“Those are the men! those are the men!” cried a loud voice from the other party, who were now seen coming up in a mass.  “Rush upon them!  Rush upon them, and tie the Messenger!”

“Oh, oh!” cried Arden.  “They have found me out, have they!  Stand by me, my lord!  Stand by me, Mr. Brown!  They are rushing on!”

“Then here’s for the midst of them!” cried Lord Sherbrooke; and instantly levelling his pistol, he fired, though Wilton was in the very act of holding forth his hand to stop him.

The moment the fatal flash had taken place, there was a reel back amongst the advancing party, though they were at several yards’ distance when the pistol was fired.  A confusion, a gathering together, a murmur, succeeded; and while Lord Sherbrooke was in the very act of exclaiming, “Give me another pistol, Arden!” there was heard, from amongst the party who had been approaching, a loud voice, exclaiming, “By, he has shot the lady!—­and she was only fainting, after all.  See how the blood flows!”

The words were perfectly distinct.  Lord Sherbrooke’s hand, which had just seized the other pistol that the Messenger had held out to him, suddenly let it drop upon the ground.  It was not possible to see the expression of his face fully, for his head was turned away; but Wilton felt him grasp his arm, as if for support, trembling in every limb.

“Good God!  What have you done, Sherbrooke?” exclaimed his friend.

“I have killed her!  I have killed her!” cried Lord Sherbrooke, gasping for breath—­“I have killed the dear unfortunate girl!” and letting go Wilton’s arm, he rushed forward at once into the midst of the other party, exclaiming, “Stand back!  Let me forward!  She is my wife!  Stand out of my way!  How, in the name of Heaven, did she—­”