y under the long shed. That
same morning the spinners went back to the mules, but the molders
held out until nightfall, when it was signified to them that they
demands would be complied with.

The next day the steam-whistles of the Miantowona Iron Works and
Dana's Mills sent the echoes flying beyond that undulating line of
pines and hemlocks which half encircles Stillwater, and falls away
loosely on either side, like an unclasped girdle.

A calm, as if from out the cloudless blue sky that arched it day
after day, seemed to drift down upon the village. Han-Lin, with no
more facial expression than an orange, suddenly reappeared on the
streets, and went about repairing his laundry, unmolested. The
children were playing in the sunny lanes again, unafraid, and mothers
sat on doorsteps in the summer twilights, singing softly to the baby
in arm. There was meat on the table, and the tea-kettle hummed
comfortably at the back of the stove. The very winds that rustled
through the fragrant pines, and wandered fitfully across the vivid
green of the salt marshes, breathed peace and repose.

Then, one morning, this blissful tranquility was rudely shattered.
Old Mr. Lemuel Shackford had been found murdered in his own house in
Welch's Court.

XVIII

The general effect on Stillwater of Mr. Shackford's death and the
peculiar circumstances attending the tragedy have been set forth in
the earlier chapters of this narrative. The influence which that
event exerted upon several persons then but imperfectly known to the
reader is now to occupy us.

On the conclusion of the strike, Richard had returned, in the
highest spirits, to his own rooms in Lime Street; but the quiet week
that followed found him singularly depressed. His nerves had been
strung to their utmost tension during those thirteen days of
suspense; he had assumed no light responsibility in the matter of
closing the yard, and there had been moments when the task of
sustaining Mr. Slocum had appeared almost hopeless. Now that the
strain was removed a reaction set in, and Richard felt himself
unnerved by the fleeing shadow of the trouble which had not caused
him to flinch so long as it faced him.

On the morning and at the moment when Mary Hennessey was pushing
open the scullery door of the house in Welch's Court, and was about
to come upon the body of the forlorn old man lying there in his
night-dress, Richard sat eating his breakfast in a silent and
preoccupied mo