on.

"Poor fellow! poor fellow!" he exclaimed in a shocked tone. "That
wretched thing"--lightly touching the handle of the dagger--"is clean
through his heart. It was a strong, cruel arm that drove that home.
Nothing can be done, of course. He must have died within a few seconds!"
He rose from his knees and looked around. "What is to be done with the
body?" he asked. "It must be removed somewhere. Sir Geoffrey Kynaston,
did you say it was? Dear me! dear me! I knew his sister quite well."

"She is not far away," Mr. Thurwell said. "She and my daughter were
awaiting luncheon for us on the cliffs yonder, when this horrible thing
occurred. Lathon went back to look for her. We were afraid that she
might follow us here. She was very fond of her brother, and he had only
just returned home after many years' traveling."

"Poor fellow!" Sir Allan said softly. "But about moving him. Who lives
in that queer-looking place yonder?"

Mr. Thurwell, who knew his tenant by sight, although they had never
spoken, looked at him and hesitated. Sir Allan did the same.

"That is where I live," Mr. Brown said slowly. "If Mr. Thurwell thinks
well, let him be taken there."

He spoke without looking round or addressing any one in particular. His
back was turned upon the celebrated physician.

"The nearest place would be best, in a case like this," Sir Allan
remarked. "Have you sent for any help?"

"Some of my men are coming across the moor there," Mr. Thurwell said,
pointing them out. "They can take a gate off the hinges to carry him on."

A little troop of awed servants, whom Lord Lathon had sent down from the
Court, together with some farm laborers whom they had picked up on the
way, were soon on the spot.

Mr. Thurwell gave some brief directions, and in a few minutes the high
five-barred gate, with "private" painted across it in white letters, was
taken from its hinges, and the body carefully laid upon it. Then Mr.
Thurwell turned resolutely to his daughter.

"Helen, you must go home now," he said firmly. "Jackson will take you.
We can spare him easily."

She shook her head.

"I would rather stay," she said quietly. "I shall not faint, or do
anything stupid, I promise you."

Sir Allan Beaumerville looked at her curiously. It was a strange thing
to him, notwithstanding his wide experience, to find a girl of her years
so little outwardly moved by so terrible a tragedy. Mr. Thurwell, too,
was surprised. He knew that she had never