of the others, was just the simple
womanly one that there was somebody in deep trouble whom she could help.
She said shortly and without any exclamations or questions, "I will go
with you; Elise wants Bob to take your mamma home, and it will take us
too long to walk, so I will send down to Lane's at once for a sleigh.
Tell Mrs. Costello, Lucia, and then get ready."

There was nothing for anybody to say against Bella's going. She had
always been decided and independent in her doings, and since her
widowhood nobody thought of advising or persuading her. Mrs. Bellairs
looked grave when she heard of this expedition, and took an opportunity
of begging Lucia, to try to prevent any exciting scene, and to insist
upon coming home again immediately; but even she said nothing to her
sister.

The two sleighs came to the door at the same time, and as Mrs. Costello
and Mrs. Bellairs drove off towards the cottage, Bella and Lucia started
in the opposite direction. They had not much to say to each other on the
way; and both, as they passed the fatal spot where the murder had been
committed affected to be occupied with their own thoughts, that they
might neither meet each other's eyes nor seem to remember where they
were. They soon began to pass along the white and scarcely-trodden track
which ran beside the creek. All was silent and desolate. The water,
almost black by contrast with the snow, washed against the bank with a
dull monotonous sound just audible; the fishing-hut had been transformed
into a great heap of snow, and the branches, heavily laden, hung quite
motionless under the cold grey sky. Not a sign of life appeared till
they came in sight of the log-house and the light curl of smoke from its
chimney. Neither had seen the place before--to Lucia, indeed, it had
possessed no interest till the events of the last month or two, and she
looked out with the sort of shuddering curiosity which is naturally
excited by the place where we know a great crime to have been hidden in
the daily life of the inhabitants. But Bella remembered many small
incidents connected with this fatal property of hers--and if a wish
could have brought those dark sullen waters to cover the whole farm and
hide it out of sight and memory, they would have risen that moment. Yet,
after all, the unchangeable fact of _her_ suffering and sorrow was no
reason for others suffering; she put aside for the present all the pangs
of personal feeling, and prepared to go i