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CHAPTER XIX. FURTHER EVIDENCE. He was half-clothed, pale as the white dress of Isabella Dallas, and evidently, from the wild look in his eyes and the quivering of his nether lip, badly scared. Stopping short a few paces from the door, he held up the lamp which he carried, to survey the astonishing scene before him. The sight of Jen tongue-tied and immovable, of Isabella weeping on her knees by the bedside, of the bed itself vacant of its dead occupant--all these things were calculated to shock even stronger nerves than those of David Sarby. Nevertheless, after a pause of sheer astonishment, he managed to stammer out a question: "I wonder if she is in the modeling class?" she said as she caught up with Elinor in the composition room. "I don't suppose there's any such luck as that. She looks too clean——".
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"Why no, Mr. Maurice, I can't say as I did." "But she can't be very far away," said Jen, hopefully. "I saw her in Deanminster, and thought she had gone there with a message from you." Battersea drew back and began to whimper again. Patricia caught the look, and was instantly both astonished and indignant..
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