He looked ten years younger than when she had seen him last. All
care was gone and an expression of content rested upon his beautiful
face.

The doctor feared to leave her, judging of the shock; but when he
returned she was calm and controlled. She sat by the dead man and held
his hand.

"A little longer," she said, and he went out again.

CHAPTER XXII

THE HIDING-PLACE

No doubt existed as to the murderer of Raymond Ironsyde, for on the
night of his death, Abel Dinnett did not return home. He had left work
at the usual time, but had not taken his bicycle; and from that day he
was seen no more.

It appeared impossible that he could evade the hue and cry, but
twenty-four hours passed and there came no report of his capture. Little
mystery marked the matter, save that of Abel's disappearance. His
animosity towards his father was known and it had culminated thus. None
imagined that capture would be long delayed; but forty-eight hours
passed and still there came no news of him.

Estelle Waldron fled from all thought of him at first; then she
reflected upon him--driven to do so by a conviction concerning him that
commanded action from her.

On the day after the coroner's inquest, for the first time she sought
Sabina. The meeting was of an affecting character, for each very fully
realised the situation from the standpoint of the other. Sabina was the
more distressed, yet she entertained definite convictions and declared
herself positive concerning certain facts. Estelle questioned her
conclusions and, indeed, refused to believe them.

"I hope you'll understand my coming, Sabina," she said.

She was clad, as usual, in a grey Harris tweed, and the elder wondered
why she did not wear black. Estelle's face was haggard and worn, with
much suffering. But it seemed that the last dregs of her own cup were
not yet drunk, for an excruciating problem faced her. There was none to
help her solve it, yet she took it to Sabina.

"I thought you'd come, sooner or later. This is a thing beyond any human
power to make better. God knows I mourn for you far more than I mourn
for myself. I don't mourn for myself. Long ago I saw that the living
can't be happy, though the dead may be. The dead may be--we'll hope it
for them."

"It's death to me as well as to him," said Estelle simply. "As far as
I'm concerned, I feel that I'm dead from now and shall live on as
somebody different--somebody I don't know yet. All that we were an