under your
feet."

"A moment," interposed a gentleman who now came hastily up, as they were
raising the body. "Lay her down again."

They obeyed him eagerly, and fell a little back that he might have space
to bend over her. It was the doctor of the neighbourhood, resident at
Deerham. He was a fine man in figure, dark and florid in face, but a
more impassive countenance could not well be seen, and he had the
peculiarity of rarely looking a person in the face. If a patient's eyes
were mixed on Dr. West's, Dr. West's were invariably fixed upon
something else. A clever man in his profession, holding an Edinburgh
degree, and practising as a general practitioner. He was brother to the
present Mrs. Verner; consequently, uncle to the two young Massingbirds.

"Has anybody got a match?" he asked.

One of the Verner's Pride servants had a whole boxful, and two or three
were lighted at a time, and held so that the doctor could see the
drowned face better than he could in the uncertain moonlight. It was a
strange scene. The lonely, weird character of the place; the dark trees
scattered about; the dull pond with its bending willows; the swaying,
murmuring crowd collected round the doctor and what he was bending over;
the bright flickering flame of the match-light; with the pale moon
overhead, getting higher and higher as the night went on, and struggling
her way through passing clouds.

"How did it happen?" asked Dr. West.

Before any answer could be given, a man came tearing up at the top of
his speed; several men, indeed, it may be said. The first was Roy, the
bailiff. Upon Roy's leaving Verner's Pride, after the rebuke bestowed
upon him by its heir, he had gone straight down to the George and
Dragon, a roadside inn, situated on the outskirts of the village, on the
road from Verner's Pride. Here he had remained, consorting with
droppers-in from Deerham, and soothing his mortification with a pipe and
sundry cans of ale. When the news was brought in that Rachel Frost was
drowned in the Willow-pond, Roy, the landlord, and the company
collectively, started off to see.

"Why, it _is_ her!" uttered Roy, taking a hasty view of poor Rachel. "I
said it wasn't possible. I saw her and talked to her up at the house but
two or three hours ago. How did she get in?"

The same question always; from all alike: how did she get in? Dr. West
rose.

"You can move her," he said.

"Is she dead, sir?"

"Yes."

Frederick Massingbird--who