a crushing load of suspicion, which grew heavier every hour.

Suspense supplies a calmness of its own. Anne went into the city as
usual, gave her lessons, and went through all the forms of her
accustomed living, both at home and abroad. Yet all the time she was
accompanied by a muffled shape, its ghostly eyes fixed upon her through
its dark veil, menacing but silent. It was dread.

When the hour came, and she knew that the old words were being spoken
over Helen: "In the midst of life we are in death: of whom may we seek
for succor but of Thee?" "Before the mountains were brought forth, or
ever the earth and the world were made, Thou art God from everlasting."
"A thousand years in Thy sight are but as yesterday, seeing that is past
as a watch in the night." "And now, Lord, what is my hope? Truly my hope
is even in Thee"--she bowed her head and joined in the sentences mutely,
present at least in spirit. The next day, while the rain fell sombrely,
she went to the distant cemetery: no one would be there in the storm,
and she wished to stand once more by Helen's side--poor Helen, beautiful
Helen, taken from this life's errors forever, perhaps already, in
another world, understanding all, repentant for all, forgiving all.

There was no one to whom Anne could speak upon the subject which was
burning like a constant fire within her heart. And when, a few days
later, a letter came from Gregory Dexter, she opened it eagerly: there
would be, there must be, comfort here. She read the pages quickly, and
her heart stood still. "If I thought that there was the least danger
that the secret of this cowardly, cruel deed would not be found out,"
wrote Dexter, "I should at once leave all this labor in which I am
engaged, important as it is, and devote myself to the search for proofs
to convict the murderer. Never in my life has my desire for swift,
sharp justice been so deeply stirred."

Anne laid down the letter with a trembling hand. If he "thought that
there was the least danger"; then he thought there was none. But so far
no one had been apprehended, or even suspected, save Ward Heathcote
alone. Did he think, then, that Heathcote was guilty? _Could_ he think
this, knowing him as he did, having been in a certain sense his
companion and friend?

Dexter had not liked Heathcote personally, but he was capable of just
judgment above his personal likings and dislikings, and Anne knew it.
She knew that he had examined the testimony imparti