in the church as well as in the vestry was
equally in vain. There was no trace to be found there any more than in
the house.

Meanwhile, during these hours of anxious seeking, the rumour of another
terrible crime had spread through the village, and a crowd that grew
from minute to minute gathered in front of the closed gates to the
rectory, in front of the church, the closed doors of which did not open
although it was a high feast day. The utter silence from the steeple,
where the bells hung mute, added to the spreading terror. Finally the
doctor came out from the rectory, accompanied by the magistrate, and
announced to the waiting villagers that their venerable pastor had
disappeared under circumstances which left no doubt that he had met his
death at the hand of a murderer. The peasants listened in shuddering
silence, the men pale-faced, the women sobbing aloud with frightened
children hanging to their skirts. Then at the magistrate's order, the
crowd dispersed slowly, going to their homes, while a messenger set off
to the near-by county seat.

It was a weird, sad Easter Monday. Even nature seemed to feel the
pressure of the brooding horror, for heavy clouds piled up towards noon
and a chill wind blew fitfully from the north, bending the young corn
and the creaking tree-tops, and moaning about the straw-covered roofs.
Then an icy cold rain descended on the village, sending the children,
the only humans still unconscious of the fear that had come on them all,
into the houses to play quietly in the corner by the hearth.

There was nothing else spoken of wherever two or three met together
throughout the village except this dreadful, unexplainable thing
that had happened in the rectory. The little village inn was full
to overflowing and the hum of voices within was like the noise of an
excited beehive. Everyone had some new explanation, some new guess, and
it was not until the notary arrived, looking even more important than
usual, that silence fell upon the excited throng. But the expectations
aroused by his coming were not fulfilled. The notary knew no more than
the others although he had been one of the searchers in the rectory.
But he was in no haste to disclose his ignorance, and sat wrapped in a
dignified silence until some one found courage to question him.

"Was there nothing stolen?" he was asked.

"No, nothing as far as we can tell yet. But if it was the gypsies--as
may be likely--they are content with so