the
house. She felt that many changes would take place before she would
again see Jasper. Not for an instant did she consider him guilty of
murdering old David. But she was well aware that others would think
differently, and would be only too ready to condemn Jasper upon the
slightest evidence. An idea suddenly flashed into her mind, which
caused her heart to beat quicker. Some one was guilty of the murder,
and that person must be found, whoever and wherever he was. Was there
not something that she could do? she asked herself. Jasper must be
saved, and who else would take such a real heart interest in the matter
as herself? She knew that a woman was not expected to undertake work
of such a nature. But Lois Sinclair had very little respect for social
customs if they stood in the way of duty.
During the day she had thought much about the murder and had tried to
unravel the mystery connected with it. Who was there in the place
likely to commit such a cowardly deed, and what would be his motive?
Old David had not an enemy, as far as she knew, and he had injured no
one. It was necessary for her to probe deeper still, and as she neared
the house her mind brooded over this question. She chided herself that
she had not asked Jasper's opinion. Perhaps he had some suspicion, for
even upon the slightest clue important results might depend.
Lois had reached the steps leading to the verandah when she happened to
stop and look down toward the river. As she did so, she started, for
there near the shore, with his easel before him, was Sydney Bramshaw.
Had she known of the stormy scene which had taken place between him and
Jasper about an hour before she would have been more surprised to see
him where he was. He was seated facing the house, and thus could
observe all that took place about the building. If he saw Lois he gave
no sign of recognition, but seemed to be entirely occupied with his
work.
The sight of this man had a remarkable effect upon Lois. She had seen
him but little of late, and to behold him now when she was thinking so
much about the murder was most startling. She entered the house as if
nothing unusual were agitating her mind. But with the door closed
behind her, she hurried upstairs, where she found Margaret sitting in
her room engaged upon some fancy-work. It was a bright sunny room, and
the girl sitting there by the open window presented a beautiful picture
of peace and youthful charm.
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