He was dead and had, indeed, died instantly when fired upon.  He had been shot through the lung and heart, and must have perished before he fell from his horse to the ground.

They knew Estelle at the hospital and left her with Raymond for a little while.  He looked ten years younger than when she had seen him last.  All care was gone and an expression of content rested upon his beautiful face.

The doctor feared to leave her, judging of the shock; but when he returned she was calm and controlled.  She sat by the dead man and held his hand.

“A little longer,” she said, and he went out again.

CHAPTER XXII

THE HIDING-PLACE

No doubt existed as to the murderer of Raymond Ironsyde, for on the night of his death, Abel Dinnett did not return home.  He had left work at the usual time, but had not taken his bicycle; and from that day he was seen no more.

It appeared impossible that he could evade the hue and cry, but twenty-four hours passed and there came no report of his capture.  Little mystery marked the matter, save that of Abel’s disappearance.  His animosity towards his father was known and it had culminated thus.  None imagined that capture would be long delayed; but forty-eight hours passed and still there came no news of him.

Estelle Waldron fled from all thought of him at first; then she reflected upon him—­driven to do so by a conviction concerning him that commanded action from her.

On the day after the coroner’s inquest, for the first time she sought Sabina.  The meeting was of an affecting character, for each very fully realised the situation from the standpoint of the other.  Sabina was the more distressed, yet she entertained definite convictions and declared herself positive concerning certain facts.  Estelle questioned her conclusions and, indeed, refused to believe them.

“I hope you’ll understand my coming, Sabina,” she said.

She was clad, as usual, in a grey Harris tweed, and the elder wondered why she did not wear black.  Estelle’s face was haggard and worn, with much suffering.  But it seemed that the last dregs of her own cup were not yet drunk, for an excruciating problem faced her.  There was none to help her solve it, yet she took it to Sabina.

“I thought you’d come, sooner or later.  This is a thing beyond any human power to make better.  God knows I mourn for you far more than I mourn for myself.  I don’t mourn for myself.  Long ago I saw that the living can’t be happy, though the dead may be.  The dead may be—­we’ll hope it for them.”

“It’s death to me as well as to him,” said Estelle simply.  “As far as I’m concerned, I feel that I’m dead from now and shall live on as somebody different—­somebody I don’t know yet.  All that we were and had and hoped—­everything is gone with him.  The future was to be spent in trying to do good things.  We shared the same ideas about it.  But that’s all over.  I’m left—­single-handed, Sabina.”