DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.22217#0303
A MURDERERS MISTAKE.
As it was, he got leave to go on to the town, and further. On
the north side of the place, and but half a mile from the toll,
Frearton Hall stood within its own grounds. There was a
lodge at the entrance, kept by the gamekeeper already alluded
to, but if the tramp entered there, he had opened the gate
and walked in unseen. The dinner at the hall was just over
when one of the servants brought a message, which she
whispered into the ear of the young laird.
" Wants to see me ? Who is he ? Did he give no name ? "
he was heard hurriedly to say.
" No, sir; and he's such an awful-like man—just like a
tramp or a beggar," answered the girl.
"A tramp? Oh, I see! Is he old and white-haired?"
said the gentleman, remembering the scene at the toll-keeper's
house, and the queer character he had assisted there.
" Excuse me; I'll be back in a minute," he said to the
others in the room; and he ran out, expecting to find the man
in the hall.
" He wouldn't come in; he said he'd wait outside," said the
girl, noticing her young master's look of disappointment.
" P'r'aps he's away by this time."
The young laird stepped briskly through the hall and looked
out into the dusk. The sun had just set, and there was still
light enough to see any one near the spot. At the head of
the walk leading to the house there was a clump of laurels and
a drooping ash, and Stephen Barbour fancied he saw a white-
haired head look out from behind that, and quickly cleared
the space to find his suspicions correct. The queer tramp
stood before him, with his right hand hidden down among the
rags by his side.
"Oh, it's you again?" said the gentleman frankly, at the
same time extending his hand to be shaken.
"You're Stephen Barbour, eldest son of Russel Barbour,
aren't you ? " said the tramp, taking no notice of the proffered
hand, and glaring on the young man with a ferocity which
startled the other.
" I am, sir—what then? "
" Then I've come to pay you back for what you did to Meg,"
said the old man, with suppressed fury. " Take that!" and
instantly he raised his right hand, and a pistol-shot rang out
on the soft evening air.
Quickly as the hand was raised the victim had time to throw
out his own in a futile grasp at the old man's arm; then, when
As it was, he got leave to go on to the town, and further. On
the north side of the place, and but half a mile from the toll,
Frearton Hall stood within its own grounds. There was a
lodge at the entrance, kept by the gamekeeper already alluded
to, but if the tramp entered there, he had opened the gate
and walked in unseen. The dinner at the hall was just over
when one of the servants brought a message, which she
whispered into the ear of the young laird.
" Wants to see me ? Who is he ? Did he give no name ? "
he was heard hurriedly to say.
" No, sir; and he's such an awful-like man—just like a
tramp or a beggar," answered the girl.
"A tramp? Oh, I see! Is he old and white-haired?"
said the gentleman, remembering the scene at the toll-keeper's
house, and the queer character he had assisted there.
" Excuse me; I'll be back in a minute," he said to the
others in the room; and he ran out, expecting to find the man
in the hall.
" He wouldn't come in; he said he'd wait outside," said the
girl, noticing her young master's look of disappointment.
" P'r'aps he's away by this time."
The young laird stepped briskly through the hall and looked
out into the dusk. The sun had just set, and there was still
light enough to see any one near the spot. At the head of
the walk leading to the house there was a clump of laurels and
a drooping ash, and Stephen Barbour fancied he saw a white-
haired head look out from behind that, and quickly cleared
the space to find his suspicions correct. The queer tramp
stood before him, with his right hand hidden down among the
rags by his side.
"Oh, it's you again?" said the gentleman frankly, at the
same time extending his hand to be shaken.
"You're Stephen Barbour, eldest son of Russel Barbour,
aren't you ? " said the tramp, taking no notice of the proffered
hand, and glaring on the young man with a ferocity which
startled the other.
" I am, sir—what then? "
" Then I've come to pay you back for what you did to Meg,"
said the old man, with suppressed fury. " Take that!" and
instantly he raised his right hand, and a pistol-shot rang out
on the soft evening air.
Quickly as the hand was raised the victim had time to throw
out his own in a futile grasp at the old man's arm; then, when