one of the servants, booted and spurred.

"Well, Daly," he said, as he dismounted, "how are all at home?"

This man, like the former, met his smile with a troubled countenance, and
stammered--

"All, sir--that is, the master, and mistress, and Miss Rhoda--quite well,
sir; but--"

"Well, well," said Charles, eagerly, "speak on--what is it?"

"Bad work, sir," replied the man, lowering his voice. "I am going off
this minute for--"

"For what?" urged the young gentleman.

"Why, sir, for the coroner," replied he.

"The coroner--the coroner! Why, good God, what has happened?" cried
Charles, aghast with horror.

"Sir Wynston," commenced the man, and hesitated.

"Well?" pursued Charles, pale and breathless.

"Sir Wynston--he--it is he," said the man.

"He? Sir Wynston? Is he dead, or who is?--Who is dead?" demanded the
young man, almost fiercely.

"Sir Wynston, sir; it is he that is dead. There is bad work, sir--very
bad, I'm afraid," replied the man.

Charles did not wait to inquire further, but, with a feeling of mingled
horror and curiosity, entered the house.

He hurried up the stairs, and entered his mother's sitting room. She was
there, perfectly alone, and so deadly pale, that she scarcely looked like
a living being. In an instant they were locked in one another's arms.

"Mother--my dear mother, you are ill," said the young man, anxiously.

"Oh, no, no, dear Charles, but frightened, horrified;" and as she said
this, the poor lady burst into tears.

"What is this horrible affair? Something about Sir Wynston. He is dead, I
know, but is it--is it suicide?" he asked.

"Oh, no, not suicide," said Mrs. Marston, greatly agitated.

"Good God! Then he is murdered," whispered the young man, growing
very pale.

"Yes, Charles--horrible--dreadful! I can scarcely believe it," replied
she, shuddering while she wept.

"Where is my father?" inquired the young man, after a pause.

"Why, why, Charles, darling--why do you ask for him?" she said, wildly,
grasping him by the arm, as she looked into his face with a terrified
expression.

"Why--why, he could tell me the particulars of this horrible
tragedy," answered he, meeting her agonized look with one of alarm
and surprise, "as far as they have been as yet collected. How is he,
mother--is he well?"

"Oh, yes, quite well, thank God," she answered, more collectedly--"quite
well, but, of course, greatly, dreadfully shocked."

"I will go to him, mother; I will