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Chapter 17

           

           Butjustasheturnedtherecametheshotofafirelockfromhigherupthehill;andwiththeverysoundofitGlenurefellupontheroad.

           “O,Iamdead!”hecried,severaltimesover.

           Thelawyerhadcaughthimupandheldhiminhisarms,theservantstandingoverandclaspinghishands.Andnowthewoundedmanlookedfromonetoanotherwithscaredeyes,andtherewasachangeinhisvoice,thatwenttotheheart.

           “Takecareofyourselves,”sayshe.“Iamdead.”

           Hetriedtoopenhisclothesasiftolookforthewound,buthisfingersslippedonthebuttons.Withthathegaveagreatsigh,hisheadrolledonhisshoulder,andhepassedaway.

           Thelawyersaidneveraword,buthisfacewasassharpasapenandaswhiteasthedeadman’s;theservantbrokeoutintoagreatnoiseofcryingandweeping,likeachild;andI,onmyside,stoodstaringattheminakindofhorror.Thesheriff’sofficerhadrunbackatthefirstsoundoftheshot,tohastenthecomingofthesoldiers.

           Atlastthelawyerlaiddownthedeadmaninhisbloodupontheroad,andgottohisownfeetwithakindofstagger.

           Ibelieveitwashismovementthatbroughtmetomysenses;forhehadnosoonerdonesothanIbegantoscrambleupthehill,cryingout,“Themurderer!themurderer!”

           Solittleatimehadelapsed,thatwhenIgottothetopofthefirststeepness,andcouldseesomepartoftheopenmountain,themurdererwasstillmovingawayatnogreatdistance.Hewasabigman,inablackcoat,withmetalbuttons,andcarriedalongfowling-piece.

           “Here!”Icried.

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