that a weight of horror was upon him, but stunned by an agony too great to bear. Francesca sunk on her knees, and raised the inanimate head in her arms. At first she did not believe the worst; but she looked on those white set features and knew there was an end of all!
The servants now crowded round, and carried the body to the house. Lord Avonleigh followed mechanically; but he staggered, and his daughter offered to support him. Almost fiercely he repulsed her aid, and walked on with a hurried and uncertain step. Poor Francesca!—the bitterness which swelled in her heart!—"He is no father in his love towards me!"
The leech was summoned when they reached the Castle. He could but give one look at the piteous spectacle and turn away: the father needed his skill—the son no more.
"Let the horse and the hound be destroyed at once!" were Lord Avonleigh's only words; and that order given, he sought the chamber where they had laid his child, and throwing himself on the bed, gave way to the wildest expressions of despair. Francesca knelt—she wept at his feet, and implored him to have pity on his own soul; but it was in vain. About midnight he slept, exhausted with his own violence—slept beside the extended corse!
