excited considerable interest in London some years since.
The melancholy circumstances of the case are complicated by the
disappearance, on the day of the murder, of the woman's young son by her
first husband. The poor boy is supposed to have run away in terror from
his miserable home, and the police are endeavoring to discover some
trace of him. It is reported that another child of the first marriage (a
daughter) is living in England. But nothing is known about her."

"Has your governess any relations in England?" Randal asked.

"Only an aunt, who has treated her in the most inhuman manner."

"Serious news for Miss Westerfield, as you say," Randal resumed. "And,
as I think, serious news for us. Here is a mere girl--a poor friendless
creature--absolutely dependent on our protection. What are we to do if
anything happens, in the future, to alter our present opinion of her?"

"Nothing of the sort is likely to happen," Mrs. Linley declared.

"Let us hope not," Randal said, gravely.

Chapter V. Randal Writes to New York.

The members of the family at Mount Morven consulted together, before
Sydney Westerfield was informed of her brother's disappearance and of
her mother's death.

Speaking first, as master of the house, Herbert Linley offered his
opinion without hesitation. His impulsive kindness shrank from the
prospect of reviving the melancholy recollections associated with
Sydney's domestic life. "Why distress the poor child, just as she is
beginning to feel happy among us?" he asked. "Give me the newspaper; I
shan't feel easy till I have torn it up."

His wife drew the newspaper out of his reach. "Wait a little," she said,
quietly; "some of us may feel that it is no part of our duty to conceal
the truth."

Mrs. Presty spoke next. To the surprise of the family council, she
agreed with her son-in-law.

"Somebody must speak out," the old lady began; "and I mean to set the
example. Telling the truth," she declared, turning severely to her
daughter, "is a more complicated affair than you seem to think. It's a
question of morality, of course; but--in family circles, my dear--it's
sometimes a question of convenience as well. Is it convenient to upset
my granddaughter's governess, just as she is entering on her new duties?
Certainly not! Good heavens, what does it matter to my young friend
Sydney whether her unnatural mother lives or dies? Herbert, I second
your proposal to tear up the paper with the greatest