"At last!" he panted. "I'll have your heart's blood, as I swore I'd have it!"
He lifted the knife. Sir Everard Kingsland tried to gasp one last brief prayer in that supreme moment.
"Help!" he cried, with a last wild struggle--"help! help! murder!"
There was a rustling in the trees and some one sprung out. The last word was lost in the sharp report of a pistol, and with a scream of agony, Dick Darkly dropped his knife and fell backward on the grass.