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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. Judith explained that although she had been so eager for a visit to the celebrated night life, she had tired of the loneliness of work hours, and had run off home, leaving Elinor still expecting her criticism. "Yes," replied Maurice, deliberately. "I suspect Dido, the negress.".

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"I am not in love with Lady Meg, my dear fellow," said he, sharply; "but if you must know, I admire"--this with emphasis--"Miss Dallas." "I, massa! Ole Dido she do nuffin. Massa Maurice he die Voodoo! Oh, yes." That it was a crime he was certain, for there was no reasonable idea to suppose that Maurice had committed suicide. He had left for Deanminster hardly three hours before, full of health and spirits; and now he was dead. A dead body, a lonely road--all the evidence of an atrocious assassination having been committed, and not one trace of the assassin. Undoubtedly the twice-uttered cry had come from Maurice, and as Jen had raced out of the house after the first time he heard it, he must have reached his boy almost immediately after he died; before, so to speak, the body had time to grow cold. Yet the strange part of the affair was that the body was cold, and that there did not seem to be any wound whereby the murder could have been achieved. Major Jen shook it in his usual kindly manner, and moved a step toward the door of the summer-house. All at once he paused and looked back..