Upstairs the scuffling and the struggling became frightful.  Jim’s feet and Jim’s voice were heard above the muttering of the undertaker’s men.

Mrs. Gale whispered.  “They’re gettin’ ’im in.  ‘E’s gien a haand wi’ t’ body.  Thot’s soomthin’.”

She brooded ponderously.  A sound of stamping and scraping at the back door roused her.

“Eh—­oo’s there now?” she asked irritably.

Willie, the farm lad, appeared on the threshold.  His face was flushed and scared.

“Where’s Jim?” he said in a thick voice.

“Ooosh-sh!  Doan’t yo’ knaw t’ coffin’s coom?  ‘E’s oopstairs w’ t’ owd maaster.”

“Well—­’e mun coom down.  T’ mare’s taaken baad again in ’er insi-ide.”

“T’ mare, Daasy?”

“Yes.”

“Eh dear, there’s naw end to trooble.  Yo go oop and fatch Jimmy.”

Willie hesitated.  His flush deepened.

“I daarss’nt,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Poor laad, ’e ‘s freetened o’ t’ body,” she explained.  “Yo stay there, Wullie.  I’ll goa.  T’ body’s nowt to me.  I’ve seen too many o’ they,” she muttered as she went.

They heard her crying excitedly overhead.  “Jimmy!  Yo coom to t’ ma-are!  Yo coom to t’ ma-are!”

The sounds in the room ceased instantly.  Jim Greatorex, alert and in violent possession of all his faculties, dashed down the stairs and out into the yard.

Rowcliffe followed into the darkness where his horse and trap stood waiting for him.

* * * * *

He was lighting his lamps when Jim Greatorex appeared beside him with a lantern.

“Dr. Rawcliffe, will yo joost coom an’ taak a look at lil maare?”

Jim’s sullenness was gone.  His voice revealed him humble and profoundly agitated.

Rowcliffe sighed, smiled, pulled himself together and turned with Greatorex into the stable.

In the sodden straw of her stall, Daisy, the mare, lay, heaving and snorting after her agony.  From time to time she turned her head toward her tense and swollen flank, seeking with eyes of anguish the mysterious source of pain.  The feed of oats with which Willie had tried to tempt her lay untouched in the skip beside her head.

“I give ‘er they oats an hour ago,” said Willie.  “An’ she ’assn’t so mooch as nosed ’em.”

“Nawbody but a donmed gawpie would have doon thot with ’er stoomach raw.  Yo med ‘ave killed t’ mare.”

Willie, appalled by his own deed and depressed, stooped down and fondled the mare’s face, to show that it was not affection that he lacked.

“Heer—­clear out o’ thot and let doctor have a look in.”

Willie slunk aside as Rowcliffe knelt with Greatorex in the straw and examined the sick mare.

“Can yo tell at all what’s amiss, doctor?”

“Colic, I should say.  Has the vet seen her?”

“Ye-es.  He sent oop soomthing—­”

“Well, have you given it her?”