d cloud, and the sun shone out again. The air was full of
earth-fragrance, and the landscape was cool and fresh. Nothing of
disorder remained, no sign that a man was dead, save only a mound of
piled-up stones and sod, surmounted by a little cross of branches
bound together with twisted grass.

Pere Antoine had searched the body with scant results, for he had
found no more than the warrant for Spurling's detection and arrest,
and the fragments of two torn and well-nigh obliterated letters, at
which latter he had only glanced up to the present. Nor had he seen
the contents of the locket as yet, for when he had asked Granger what
was its secret, he had received as answer, "Oh, nothing, only a young
girl's face." So he had been foiled in his endeavour to gather
materials for the establishing of Granger's innocence, should that be
assailed, and had discovered nothing which might be of use in his
defence. All he could contribute was his own personal evidence that
the appearance of the body, as he had seen it, bore out Granger's
account in every detail as to the manner in which Strangeways'
catastrophe had occurred, and that his deportment, when he had
charged him with murder, had proved conclusively to himself that there
was no ground for such an accusation.

When they had returned to the store and had had supper together,
Granger sat for a long while with the locket open before him, gazing
intently on the portrait. Suddenly he looked up. "Have you seen
Beorn?" he asked. "Do you know whether he is on his way back?"

"I have not seen him."

"Antoine, you must stay here with me until he returns."

"Why?"

"I was on my way to meet Peggy when you met and stopped me; I want you
to marry us."

"But why now and at once?"

"Because if we're not married she won't live with me,--and I must do
something to break down my loneliness by getting a new interest into
my life. If I don't, I shall be always thinking of what has happened,
and shall go mad,--in which case it will be the worse for Spurling. I
don't want to kill him--at least, not until he has had his chance to
explain himself. I'm sure now that it was Mordaunt whom he murdered,
but I'm still uncertain as to whether he knew that she was a woman, at
the time when he killed her--he may not know even yet. If he did it
mistaking her for a man, I might be able to forgive him; anyhow, I can
say so now, while you are with me. What I should do and think if I
were left here miser