stimation, that the
murder of the senior member of the film took on some unusual public
sympathy from the reflected sorrow for his fellow-victim. The latter had
been one of Zane's apprentices, raised to a place in the establishment
by his usefulness and sincere love of his patron. Just, forbearing,
soft-spoken, and not avaricious, Sayler Rainey deserved no injury from
any living being. He was unmarried, and, having met with a
disappointment in love, had avowed his intention never to marry, but to
bequeath all the property he should acquire to his partner's only son,
Andrew Zane.

What, then, was the motive of this double murder? The public
comprehension found but one theory, and that was freely advanced by the
rash and imputative in the community of Kensington: The murderer was he
who had the only known temptation and object in such a crime. Who could
gain anything by it but Andrew Zane, the impulsive, the mischief-making
and oft-restrained son of his stern sire, who, by a double crime, would
inherit that undivided property, free from the control of both parent
and guardian?

"It is parricide! that's what it is!" exclaimed a fat woman from
Fishtown. "At the bottom of the river dead men tell no tales. The
rebellious young sarpint of a son, who allus pulled a lusty oar, has
chased them two older ones into the deep water of the channel, where a
pistol shot can't be heard ashore, and he expected the property to be
his'n. But there are gallowses yet, thank the Lord!"

"Mrs. Whann, don't say that," spoke up a deferential voice from the face
of a rather sallow-skinned young man, with long, ringleted, yellow hair.
"Don't create a prejudice, I beg of you. Andrew Zane was my classmate.
He gave his excellent father some trouble, but it shouldn't be
remembered against him now. Suppose, my friends, that you let me ring
the bell and inquire?"

"Who's that?" asked the crowd. "He's a fine, mature-looking, charitable
young man, anyway."

"Its the old Minister Van de Lear's son, Calvin. He's going to succeed
his venerable and pious poppy in Kensington pulpit. They'll let him in."

The door closed when Calvin Van de Lear entered the residence of the
late William Zane. When it reopened he was seen with a handkerchief in
his hand and his hat pulled down over his eyes, as if he had been
weeping.

"Stop! stop! don't be going off that way!" interposed the fat fishwife.
"You said you would tell us the news."

"My friends," replied Ca