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"God knows!" stammered Jen, turning his horrified gaze on the poor girl. He did not know what to do. Isabella was in a dangerous state of hysteria. She had on but a loose white dressing-gown, and her presence in the house at three o'clock in the morning was enough to overpower Jen's sense of the reasonable, independent of the crowning horror of the missing corpse. At this juncture the much-needed aid came from without. David Sarby rushed into the room. "And does Mrs. Dallas believe that rubbish?" asked Maurice, incredulously. "God forbid that my heart should harbor so ill a thought," cried Jen, with natural horror. "But I tell you what, David. We must sift this affair to the bottom. Maurice is dead, his assassin is at large, so we must catch him.".

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"But how do you know it isn't David's?" persisted Judith, as she gathered up her letters. "We never asked David when his birthday came, did we?" "Yes. I know something, but what it is I dare not tell you now, Uncle Jen," he added, gravely looking at the elder. "If you are wise, you will not pursue your inquiry." "Why do you speak of her?" asked Maurice, fiercely, while David looked loweringly at Etwald. "The Voodoo stone," echoed Jen, much puzzled. "And what may that be?".