In a very short time she had passed quietly downstairs and through the hall, greatly to the amazement of William, who opened the front door for her.  Once in the village road the damp raw air revived her greatly.  She lifted her hot temples to it, welcoming the waves of wet mist that swept along the road, feeling her youth come back to her.

Suddenly as she was nearing the end of a narrow bit of lane between high hedges, and the first houses of the village were in sight, she was stopped by a noise behind her—­a strange unaccountable noise as of women’s voices, calling and wailing.  It startled and frightened her, and she stood in the middle of the road waiting.

Then she saw coming towards her two women running at full speed, crying and shouting, their aprons up to their faces.

“What is it?  What is the matter?” she asked, going to meet them, and recognising two labourers’ wives she knew.

“Oh! miss—­oh! miss!” said the foremost, too wrapt up in her news to be surprised at the sight of her.  “They’ve just found him—­they’re bringin’ ov ’im home; they’ve got a shutter from Muster Wellin! ’im at Disley Farm.  It wor close by Disley wood they found ’em.  And there’s one ov ’is men they’ve sent off ridin’ for the inspector—­here he come, miss!  Come out o’ th’ way!”

They dragged her back, and a young labourer galloped past them on a farm colt, urging it on to its full pace, his face red and set.

“Who is found?” cried Marcella—­“What is it?”

“Westall, miss—­Lor’ bless you—­Shot him in the head they did—­blowed his brains right out—­and Charlie Dynes—­oh! he’s knocked about shamful—­the doctor don’t give no hopes of him.  Oh deary—­deary me!  And we’re goin’ for Muster Harden—­ee must tell the widder—­or Miss Mary—­none on us can!”

“And who did it?” said Marcella, pale with horror, holding her.

“Why the poachers, miss.  Them as they’ve bin waitin’ for all along—­and they do say as Jim Hurd’s in it.  Oh Lord, oh Lord!”

Marcella stood petrified, and let them hurry on.

CHAPTER IX.

The lane was still again, save for the unwonted sounds coming from the groups which had gathered round the two women, and were now moving beside them along the village street a hundred yards ahead.

Marcella stood in a horror of memory—­seeing Hurd’s figure cross the moonlit avenue from dark to dark.  Where was he?  Had he escaped?  Suddenly she set off running, stung by the thought of what might have already happened under the eyes of that unhappy wife, those wretched children.

As she entered the village, a young fellow ran up to her in breathless excitement.  “They’ve got ’im, miss.  He’d come straight home—­’adn’t made no attempt to run.  As soon as Jenkins” (Jenkins was the policeman) “heared of it, ee went straight across to ‘is house, an’ caught ’im.  Ee wor goin’ to make off—­’is wife ‘ad been persuadin’ ov ’im all night.  But they’ve got him, miss, sure enough!”