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After she had said good-bye and they Were waiting at the curator's desk, Elinor spoke musingly. "But what are you talking of?" broke in Jen, impetuously. "You say that my poor boy died from blood-poisoning. How else could he have come by that, save through being touched or struck with the devil-stick? No one in the neighborhood was likely to possess any weapon likely to corrupt the blood. If Maurice had been stabbed, or shot, or if his head had been smashed in, I could understand the crime--or rather the motive for the crime--better; but as it is, the person who stole the devil-stick must have killed him." On the day after the major's dinner party, Isabella was sitting in the veranda with a book open on her lap and Dido standing gravely near her. Mrs. Dallas, in the cool depths of the drawing-room, was indulging in an after-luncheon siesta. The sunlight poured itself over the velvet lawns, drew forth the perfumes from the flower-beds, and made the earth languorous with heat..
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"Yes?" queried Jen, eagerly. "I am open to correction. Please go on." "Dido!" repeated Lady Meg, thoughtfully. "I have heard Mr. Alymer and Mr. Sarby talking about her. A negress, is she not?" "Yes; but she did not know what she was doing!" Here Elinor gave a start, and then composed herself as Judith went on..
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