"But at that moment there came up so furious a squall of wind, and
with it such dense and cutting rain, that for a while the execution
was delayed. Presently it passed, the wild light of the November
morning swept out from the sky, and revealed the doomed man kneeling
in prayer upon the sodden turf, the water running from his white hair
and beard.

"They called to him to stand up, but he would not, and continued
praying. So they shot him on his knees."

"Well," said Colonel Quaritch, "at any rate he died like a gallant
gentleman."

At that moment there was a knock at the door, and the servant came in.

"What is it?" asked the Squire.

"George is here, please, sir," said the girl, "and says that he would
like to see you."

"Confound him," growled the old gentleman; "he is always here after
something or other. I suppose it is about the Moat Farm. He was going
to see Janter to-day. Will you excuse me, Quaritch? My daughter will
tell you the end of the story if you care to hear any more. I will
join you in the drawing-room."



CHAPTER IV