Mr. Harper with passionate intensity, he called
out till the room rang again:

"Georgian is dead! You hear me, Georgian is dead!"

CHAPTER XVII

"I DON'T HEAR"

The afternoon passed without further developments. Mr. Harper, who had
his own imperative engagements, left on the evening train for New York,
promising to return the next day in case his presence seemed
indispensable to his client.

That client's final word to him had been an injunction to keep an eye on
Georgian's so-called brother and to report how he had been affected by
the news from Sitford; and when, in the lull following the lawyer's
departure, Mr. Ransom sat down in his room to look his own position
resolutely in the face, this brother and his possible connection with the
confusing and unhappy incidents of this last fatal week regained that
prominent place in his thoughts which the doubts engendered by the
unusual character of these incidents had for a while dispelled.

What had been the hold of this strange and uncongenial man on Georgian?
And was his reappearance at the same time with that of a supposedly long
deceased sister simply a coincidence so startling as to appear unreal?

He had not seen Anitra again and did not propose to, unless the meeting
came about in a natural way and without any show of desire on his part.
If any suspicion had been awakened in the house by his peculiar conduct
in the morning, he meant it to be speedily dissipated by the careful way
in which he now held to his role of despairing husband whose only
interest in the girl left on his hands was the dutiful one of a reluctant
brother-in-law, who doubts the kindly feelings of his strange and
unwelcome charge.

The landlady, with a delicacy he highly appreciated, cared for the young
girl without making her conspicuous by any undue attention. No tidings
had come in of any discovery in the mill-stream or in the river into
which it ran, and there being nothing with which to feed gossip, the
townsfolk who had gathered about the hotel porches gradually began to
disperse, till only a few of the most persistent remained to keep up
conversation till midnight.

Finally these too left and the house sank into quiet, a quiet which
remained unbroken all night; for everybody, even poor Mr. Ransom, slept.

He was up, however, with the first beam entering his room. How could he
tell but that news of a definite and encouraging nature awaited him? Some
one might have come in