He started back from the motionless figure. “Dead!” he said suddenly, and turning, panic stricken, fled headlong through the wood.
XLIX.
It was some minutes after the footsteps of the Angel had died away in the distance that Gotch raised himself on his hand. “By Jove!” he said. “Crump’s right.”
“Cut at the head, too!”
He put his hand to his face and felt the two weals running across it, hot and fat. “I’ll think twice before I lift my hand against a lunatic again,” said Sir John Gotch.
“He may be a person of weak intellect, but I’m damned if he hasn’t a pretty strong arm. Phew! He’s cut a bit clean off the top of my ear with that infernal lash.”
“That infernal horse will go galloping to the house in the approved dramatic style. Little Madam’ll be scared out of her wits. And I ... I sh
