d, feeble, and leaning on his
stick. Frederick Massingbird seized upon the boy, questioning sharply.

"Rachel Frost's a-drowned in the Willow Pond," he reiterated. "I see'd
her."

A moment of pause, of startled suspense, and then they flew off, men and
women, as with one accord, Frederick Massingbird leading the van. Social
obligations were forgotten in the overwhelming excitement, and Mr. and
Mrs. Verner were left to keep house for themselves. Tynn, indeed,
recollected himself, and turned back.

"No," said Mr. Verner. "Go with the rest, Tynn, and see what it is, and
whether anything can be done."

He might have crept thither himself in his feeble strength, but he had
not stirred out of the house for two years.

CHAPTER IV.

THE CROWD IN THE MOONLIGHT.

The Willow Pond, so called from its being surrounded with weeping
willows, was situated at the corner of a field, in a retired part of the
road, about midway between Verner's Pride and Deerham. There was a great
deal of timber about that part; it was altogether as lonely as could be
desired. When the runners from Verner's Pride reached it, assistance had
already arrived, and Rachel, rescued from the pond, was being laid upon
the grass. All signs of life were gone.

Who had done it?--what had caused it?--was it an accident?--was it a
self-committed act?--or was it a deed of violence? What brought her
there at all? No young girl would be likely to take that way home (with
all due deference to the opinion of Master Dan Duff) alone at night.

What was to be done? The crowd propounded these various questions in so
many marvels of wonder, and hustled each other, and talked incessantly;
but to be of use, to direct, nobody appeared capable. Frederick
Massingbird stepped forward with authority.

"Carry her at once to Verner's Pride--with all speed. And some of
you"--turning to the servants of the house--"hasten on, and get water
heated and blankets hot. Get hot bricks--get anything and everything
likely to be required. How did she get in?"

He appeared to speak the words more in the light of a wailing regret,
than as a question. It was a question that none present appeared able to
answer. The crowd was increasing rapidly. One of them suggested that
Broom the gamekeeper's cottage was nearer than Verner's Pride.

"But there will be neither hot water nor blankets there," returned
Frederick Massingbird.

"The house is the best. Make haste! don't let grass grow