"Something upset her terribly yesterday morning. She was ill and with
no cause that I could see, and I believe she had had a nervous
shock."

"But she seemed all right this morning,--a little pale, but otherwise
quite herself." Bertrand turned the little charm over in his hand.
"He thought it was Chinese because it is jade, but this carving is
Egyptian. I don't think it is jade, and I don't think it is Chinese."

"But whatever it is, it was on Richard's chain Saturday," said Mary,
sadly. "And now, what can we do? On second thought I'll say nothing to
Betty. If a tragedy has come upon the Craigmiles, it will also fall on
her now, and we must spare her all of it we can, until we know."

A call came to them from below, and Bertrand hastily handed the charm
back to his wife, and she tied it again in her handkerchief.

"Oh, Bertrand, don't go near that terrible brink. It might give way.
I'm sure this has been an accident."

"But the stick, Mary, and the marks of blood on Peter Junior's hat.
I'm afraid--afraid."

"But they were always fond of each other. They have been like
brothers."

"And quarrels between brothers are often the bitterest."

"But we have never heard of their quarreling, and they were so glad to
see each other Saturday. And you know Peter Junior was always
possessed to do whatever Richard planned. They were that way about
enlisting, you remember, and everything else. What cause could Richard
have against Peter Junior?"

"We can't say it was Richard against Peter. You see the stick was
bloody, and it was Peter's. We must offer no opinion, no matter what
we think, for the world may turn against the wrong one, and only time
will tell."

They both were silent as the boys came panting up the bank. "Here's a
handkerchief. It was what I saw. It was caught on a thorn bush, and
here--here's Peter Junior's little notebook, with his name--"

"This is Peter's handkerchief. P. C. J. Hester Craigmile embroidered
those letters." Mary's eyes filled with tears. "Bertrand, we must go
to her. She may hear in some terrible way."

"And the book, where was that, John?"

"It was lying on that flat rock. John had to crawl along the ledge on
his belly to get it; and here, I found this lead pencil," cried
Charlie, excited and important.

"'Faber No. 2.' Yes, this was also Peter's." Bertrand shut it in the
notebook. "Mary, this looks sinister. We'd better go down. There's
nothing more to learn here."

"Maybe we'll