So Rupert possessed his soul in patience and retired to bed early. After a somewhat restless night, he descended to breakfast to find that ill news travels fast. It was Mrs. Beatson who conveyed this especial information, and she did so with delight, always anxious to pass on any news of any disaster.
"Oh, Mr. Hendle," she cried, bursting into the breakfast room without knocking; "such a terrible thing has happened! Mr. Leigh is dead! Mr. Leigh has been murdered!"
The information concerning the vicar's violent death was so extraordinary and so wholly unexpected that Rupert could not believe it to be entirely true. However, Mrs. Beatson's tempestuous announcement spoiled his breakfast, and, leaving the meal unfinished, the Squire hurried down to the village. Here everything was in a state of commotion, as it was rarely that so untoward an event disturbed the placidity of Barship. No one--from the flying rumors Hendle gathered during his progress--appeared to be acquainted with the exact facts of the case. Some said that Mr. Leigh had committed suicide; others, that a burglar, surprised at midnight, had struck the blow; while a few declared that the vicar was only wounded and would recover. But when Hendle reached the untidy house, he learned from the tearful Mrs. Jabber that the information was only too true. Mr. Leigh, with a nasty ragged wound on his right temple, had been found dead in his study at seven o'clock in the morning, and Kensit, the village constable, was already on the premises looking into the matter along with Dr. Tollart. The two, it seemed, had arrived simultaneously, Kensit having picked up the doctor on the road.
"And you could have knocked me down with a feather when them two walked in," wailed Mrs. Jabber, who was all rags and tears; "me expecting to be taken to jail straight off, though being, as you may guess, sir, as innocent as new-born infants. Ten o'clock was the hour as me and Jabber went to bed, as I can take my alfred davit in any court of lawr, and never a sound or a whisper did we hear, both being heavy sleepers. And when I come with a duster and a broom into the library, to clean it for the day, there I sees that blessed man lying on the floor under his writing table bleeding like a pig, face downward. As you may think, sir, I went white, and felt my inwards quaking, as I said to Jabber when we took someat strong later to keep our legs from giving way. I hollered and Jabber come to see if I was in a fit. Then says he, 'This is murder,' and runs out to shriek for the perlice, which is here with Dr. Tollart, hardly sober if you can believe me, sir. And that's the Bible truth of the whole thing, as I'd swear on my mother's corpse, though she's been an angel these many years. And what 'ull happen to me and Jabber," ended the good lady, dissolving in many tears, "is more than I can say, having no gift in prophets."