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"I don't know myself. I wandered in a desultory fashion through the wood on leaving you, not caring to return home just then, and I was thinking of—of you, of course—when I stumbled against something (they tell me it was a gnarled root that had thrust itself above ground), and then there was a report, and a sharp pang; and that was all. I remember nothing. The gamekeeper found me a few minutes later, and had me brought here." Whereupon Jack Rodney instantly conceives a sudden and uncalled for dislike towards the man in question. "No one can say we are not in time," says Jack, gayly. "It is exactly"—examining closely the ormolu-clock upon the mantelpiece—"one hour before we can reasonably expect dinner.".
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"Well, she danced like a fairy, at all events, in spite of her size," says Sir Nicholas, alluding to the person the funny story had been about. This eulogy on the departing Larry she delivers with much unction, and a good deal of check apron in the corner of one eye. But presently, seeing the author of her mirth does not rise from his watery resting-place, her smile fades, a little frightened look creeps into her eyes, and, hastening forward, she reaches the bank of the stream and gazes into it. Rodney is lying face downwards in the water, his head having come with some force against the sharp edge of a stone against which it is now resting. "But what is to be done?" asks Nicholas, distractedly, though inexpressibly cheered by these professions of loyalty and devotion. "Your people won't hear of it.".
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