Jarvis has shares in it.
And--and Lizzie----"

His voice broke. There was a deathly silence.

"This must never reach her ears, Stuart, nor any of them. It would
kill Aunt Margaret." That was John Coulson's voice, and Elizabeth held
her breath to catch what this was she must not hear. If it were so
terrible, surely it would make her feel just a little regretful
concerning John.

"No, no," Charles Stuart answered. "They'll never know, and the public
will never know. The man who did the dastardly thing will see to that.
And his company, headed by Huntley, will shield him."

"Can't they be exposed?" John Coulson's voice was a mere whisper.

"Exposed! Not they. The papers say it was merely an accident, with
only one white man killed. That is Huntley's story too, and who cares
that a hundred or so Chinamen were blown to pieces? Nobody is going to
be so crude as to announce that they were put out of the way when the
company was done with them, to save big arrears in wages. And nobody
can prove it. They'll make a fuss about John----" The voice broke
again. Elizabeth did not wait to hear more. She arose and went
quietly down to the study. She opened the door and stood facing the
two men. She did not feel one pang of grief as yet, but she wanted to
make things plain. She wanted to explain to John Coulson and Charles
Stuart that it was not the President of the British North American
Railroad that had killed John, but she, his favorite sister; because it
was she who in her stepping aside from the path of her plain duty had
sent him to his death. This she was determined to tell, but somehow
the words seemed so slow in coming. She stretched out her hands in an
attempt to explain herself. Then she saw Charles Stuart spring towards
her out of a mist, and there fell over her a great darkness.

CHAPTER XIX

SUNRISE

Long before the sun appeared above Arrow Hill Elizabeth was dressed and
sitting at her bedroom window watching the lane. For she had promised
Auntie Jinit that she would be off to the creek at the earliest hour to
gather violets and lady's-slippers and swamp lilies to decorate the
tables for the wedding breakfast. Charlie Stuart had promised to call
for her at sunrise, but she was too excited to rest.

For this was Eppie's wedding-day. Poor little Eppie had found her home
at last--her old home too. Jake Martin, at his wife's instigation, had
handed over to his son the little farm tha