rossed about her breast. The expression upon her
countenance--that face that looked so charming beneath its veil of
widowhood as she had sat in my room at Harley Place--was calm and
restful, for indeed, in the graceful curl of the lips, there was a
kind of half-smile, as though, poor thing, she had at last found
perfect peace.

Govitt drew up the blind, allowing the golden sunset to stream into
the room, thereby giving me sufficient light to make my examination.
The latter occupied some little time, my object being to discover any
marks of violence. In persons drowned by force, and especially in
women, the doctor expects to find red or livid marks upon the wrists,
arms or neck, where the assailant had seized the victim. Of course,
these are not always discernible, for it is easier to entice the
unfortunate one to the water's edge and give a gentle push than
grapple in violence and hurl a person into the stream by main force.
The push leaves no trace; therefore, the verdict in hundreds of cases
of wilful murder has been "Suicide," or an open one, because the
necessary evidence of foul play has been wanting.

Here was a case in point. The scratch on the face that Govitt had
described was undoubtedly a post-mortem injury, and, with the
exception of another slight scratch on the ball of the left thumb, I
could find no trace whatever of violence. And yet, to me, the most
likely theory was that she had again met her husband in secret, and
had lost her life at his hands. To attribute a motive was utterly
impossible. I merely argued logically within myself that it could not
possibly be a case of suicide, for without a doubt she had met
clandestinely the eccentric old man whom the world believed to be
dead.

But if he were alive, who was the man who had died at Kew?

The facts within my knowledge were important and startling; yet if I
related them to any second person I felt that my words would be
scouted as improbable, and my allegations would certainly not be
accepted. Therefore I still kept my own counsel, longing to meet
Jevons and hear the result of his further inquiries.

Mrs. Mivart I found seated in her own room, tearful and utterly
crushed. Poor Mary's end had come upon her as an overwhelming burden
of grief, and I stood beside her full of heartfelt sympathy. A strong
bond of affection had always existed between us; but, as I took her
inert hand and uttered words of comfort, she only shook her head
sorrowfully an