Chapter X.—The Jest of Life.THE months rolled on and, while with the lapse of time the happenings of that fateful night in the Hilary woods obtruded themselves less and less upon Bert Brent's mind, it was very different with the one who had been his companion there. Indeed, their recollection was sapping the whole peace and happiness of Mr. Jones' life.
By nature most sensitive and conscientious, the thought was intensely distressing to Mr. Jones that he had caused the death of a fellow man and he brooded over it continually, morbidly taking to himself all the blame. He told himself it was entirely his own fault, for if it had not been for him the little Cockney would not have gone near the wood that night and the gamekeeper's death would not have occurred. He greatly deplored, too, that
