d burst into a torrent of tears. Truly the Manor was a
dismal house of mourning.

To Ethelwynn I sent a telegram addressed to the Hennikers, in order
that she should receive it the instant she arrived in town. Briefly I
explained the tragedy, and asked her to come down to the Manor at
once, feeling assured that Mrs. Mivart, in the hour of her distress,
desired her daughter at her side. Then I accompanied the local
constable, and the three police officers who had come over from
Oundle, down to the riverside.

The brilliant afterglow tinged the broad, brimming river with a
crimson light, and the trees beside the water already threw heavy
shadows, for the day was dying, and the glamour of the fading sunset
and the dead stillness of departing day had fallen upon everything.
Escorted by a small crowd of curious villagers, we walked along the
footpath over the familiar ground that I had traversed when following
the pair. Eagerly we searched everywhere for traces of a struggle, but
the only spot where the long grass was trodden down was at a point a
little beyond the ferry. Yet as far as I could see there was no actual
sign of any struggle. It was merely as though the grass had been
flattened by the trailing of a woman's skirt across it. Examination
showed, too, imprints of Louis XV. heels in the soft clay bank. One
print was perfect, but the other, close to the edge, gave evidence
that the foot had slipped, thus establishing the spot as that where
the unfortunate young lady had fallen into the water. When examining
the body I had noticed that she was wearing Louis XV. shoes, and also
that there was still mud upon the heels. She had always been rather
proud of her feet, and surely there is nothing which sets off the
shape of a woman's foot better than the neat little shoe, with its
high instep and heel.

We searched on until twilight darkened into night, traversing that
path every detail of which had impressed itself so indelibly upon my
brain. We passed the stile near which I had stood hidden in the bushes
and overheard that remarkable conversation between the "dead" man and
his wife. All the memories of that never-to-be-forgotten night
returned to me. Alas! that I had not questioned Mary when she had
called upon me on the previous day.

She had died, and her secret was lost.

CHAPTER XXIV.

ETHELWYNN IS SILENT.

At midnight I was seated in the drawing-room of the Manor. Before me,
dressed in plain black whi