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Then, suddenly as it had come, the storm passed, trailing dark, yellow-gray, ragged clouds in its wake. The light came back and the awed girls at the little window saw below them in the emerald meadows, wide ugly yellow splotches that grew as they looked, meeting other growing patches of swirling yellow water from the lanes and roads. Trees showed fresh wounds and masses of broken branches clotted the discolored waters of the brook. Birds called excitedly and flew exultantly about in the limpid air. The sun flung gay greens and golds. The storm was past. Etwald rose to his feet and stretched out a menacing hand. "Well, why not you and Alfred come along and make it a family party, if that is what suits Bill, the boss?".

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"Lots of time for it," said Patricia, yawning and flinging herself down on the wide couch. "The men aren't through in there for more than an hour yet." In the meantime I feel that it will be good for his judgeship for me to let him "draw" me at least a little way. I may get hurt, but I shall at least have only myself to thank for it. When we reached home, the judge stopped under the old lilac bush that leans over my side-gate and kissed my hand. Old Lilac shook a laugh of perfume all over us, and I believe signalled the event with the top of his bough to the white clump on the other side of the garden. I'm glad Aunt Adeline isn't in the flower fraternity. Suppose she had seen or heard! "Certainly! About an hour and a half before he was murdered." He was tall, he was thin, with a dark, lean face, and fiery watchful dark eyes. For three years he had been wasting his talents in the neighboring town of Deanminster; when, if intellect were in question, he should have been shouldering his way above the crowd of mediocrities in London. The man was dispassionate, brilliant and persevering; he had in him the makings not only of a great physician, but of a great man; and he was wasting his gifts in a dull provincial town. He was unpopular in Deanminster, owing to the absence of what is termed "a good bedside manner," and the invalids of the cathedral city and Hurstleigh, for he had patients in both places, resented his brusque ways and avoidance of their scandal-mongering tea parties. Also he was a mystery; than which there can be no greater sin in provincial eyes. No one knew who Etwald was, or whence he came, or why he wasted his talents in the desert of Deanminster; and such secret past which he declined to yield up to the most persistent questioner, accentuated the distrust caused by his sombre looks and curt speeches. Provincial society is intolerant of originality..