large circle of light
before him.

In the ring of that pale illumination he saw the tall tombstone, and
beneath it the figure of a woman lying face downward on the snow. Trim
gave an exclamation of astonishment, but Giles set his mouth and
suppressed all signs of emotion. He wondered if the figure was that of
Anne or of Daisy, and whether the woman, whomsoever she was, was dead or
alive. Suddenly he started back with horror. From a wound under the left
shoulder-blade a crimson stream had welled forth, and the snow was
stained with a brilliant red. The staring eyes of the groom looked over
his shoulder as he turned the body face upwards. Then Giles uttered a
cry. Here was Daisy Kent lying dead--murdered--on her father's grave!

CHAPTER V

AFTERWARDS

Never before had any event created such a sensation in the village of
Rickwell. From the choir boy and his mother the news quickly spread.
Also Giles had to call in the aid of the rector to have the body of the
unfortunate girl carried to The Elms. In a short time the churchyard was
filled with wondering people, and quite a cortege escorted the corpse.
It was like the rehearsal of a funeral procession.

Mrs. Morley had gone to bed, thinking the two girls might be reconciled
in church and come home together. Her husband, not so sanguine, had
remained in the library till after midnight, ready to play the part of
peace-maker should any fracas occur. He appeared in the hall when poor
dead Daisy was carried through the door, and stared in surprise at the
spectacle.

"Great heavens!" he cried, coming forward, his ruddy face pale with
sudden emotion. "What is all this?"

Giles took upon himself the office of spokesman, which the rector,
remembering that he had been engaged to the deceased, tacitly delegated
to him.

"It's poor Daisy," he said hoarsely. "She has been--"

"Murdered! No. Don't say murdered!"

"Yes, we found her lying on her father's grave, dead; a knife-thrust
under the left shoulder-blade. She must have died almost
instantaneously."

"Dead!" muttered Morley, ghastly white. And he approached to take the
handkerchief from the dead face. "Dead!" he repeated, replacing it. Then
he looked at the haggard face of Ware, at the silent group of men and
the startled women standing in the doorway, where the rector was keeping
them back.

"Where is her murderess?" he asked sharply.

"Murderess!" repeated Giles angrily. "What do you mean?"

"Mean? Why,