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"There's no hurry, anyway," insisted Patricia. "The cocoa will keep hot on the corner of the stove and the rest of the things don't matter. You girls haven't any classes this afternoon, so we have an eternity to feed in.",

"Oh," said Sarby, ironically; "and out of jealousy he stole the body?",

Mr. Henderson has been dead forty-two years. He only lived three months after he married Aunt Adeline, and her crêpe veil is over a yard long yet. Men are the dust under her feet, but she likes Dr. John to come over and sit with us, because she can consult with him about what Mr. Henderson really died of, and talk with him about the sad state of poor Mr. Carter's liver for a year before he died. I just go on rocking Billy and singing hymns to him in such a way that I can't hear the conversation. Mr. Carter's liver got on my nerves alive, and dead it does worse. But it hurts when the doctor has to take the little sleep-boy out of my arms to carry him home; though I like it when he says under his breath, "Thank you, Molly.",

Patricia nodded her quick appreciation. "I wonder how many she has spoken to, in all the centuries?" she mused, her eyes growing wide and absent. "Think of them, Norn—those people who felt her spell and heard the message. What a glorious company!"

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"After!" replied Isabella, with some hesitation; then abruptly left the major's side to exchange a few words with Dido. Jen, as was natural, looked after her with a glance full of doubt and suspicion. Notwithstanding her love for Maurice and her expressed desire to avenge his death by hunting down the assassin, she appeared to be anything but frank in the matter. In plain words, her conduct suggested to Jen's mind an idea that she knew more than she cared to talk about; and that such half-hinted knowledge implicated her mother. In which case--but here Dido interrupted Jen's meditations.,

"I'm not so sure of that," retorted Maurice; "I love Isabella, and come what may I intend to make her my wife.",

And here, at this point, the personality of Dr. Etwald intruded itself into the affair. It was Etwald who had bound up the wound with the handkerchief in question, and who, according to the housemaid, had forbidden its removal. The question was, had he received it from Mrs. Dallas, or had he found it on that night by the side of the insensible man. If the first, Mrs. Dallas must have perfumed it designedly with the poison, and Etwald, knowing that it was so impregnated, must have used it advisedly as a bandage. If the second, Mrs. Dallas must have been in the room on the night in question, and have used the handkerchief to render Jaggard insensible. And in either case, as the major very sensibly concluded, Mrs. Dallas must be in possession of the devil-stick. Otherwise, how could she have obtained the deadly scent?,

"Ah! you know who committed the first of the crimes," cried Jen, seizing the young girl's arm. "Confess. It was Dr. Etwald who stole the wand of sleep."