He drew her hand through his arm and spoke soothingly to her, and May felt thankful that he was there. His presence seemed to give her courage, and presently she was able to show him where the poor girl's body was hanging from the tree. John Temple left her for a few minutes and went on. Then he, too, saw the terrible sight that had filled May's heart with horror. He went up and touched one of the poor girl's hands; he felt for the stilled pulse. But he knew too well it was useless. The ghastly face told its own tale. The woman was dead; had probably been murdered, and the miserable affair must, of course, at once be investigated. He returned, therefore, to May and asked her if she were afraid to go home as quickly as possible and give the alarm. "I do not like leaving the poor woman's body quite alone," he said, "but if you are afraid--" "Oh, no," answered May; "I will run home. Father will most likely be about the place, and he will come at once. I will go now." She hurried away, while John Temple kept his dreary watch. Presently she reached the homestead, and met her father almost at the gate. Almost breathless and panting she told the dreadful news, and Mr. Churchill listened, surprised and shocked. "But are you sure it is Wray's daughter, my dear?" he said. "I am almost sure," answered May. "Oh, father, it is such a dreadful, dreadful sight!" "In that case I had better ride over and break it to poor Wray. Why, she was a fine, handsome, merry girl; how ever can such a thing have happened?" While the father and daughter were speaking, and Mr. Churchill was considering what it would be best to do, to their surprise and pain James Wray, the landlord of the Wayside Inn, was seen approaching in a small dog-cart in great haste toward the house. He pulled up when he recognized the Churchills, and they saw that his face was pale and agitated. "You've not seen or heard anything of my girl, have ye?" he asked, excitedly, addressing Mr. Churchill, whose eyes fell uneasily as he spoke. "She left home last night, and has never come back. I'm on my way to the station, and if I hear nothing of her there I must get the police." "Come into the house a few minutes, Mr. Wray," answered Mr. Churchill, feelingly; "perhaps I may have some news for you." James Wray sprang from the dog-cart and grasped the farmer's hand. "Not bad!" he cried, "don't say bad news about my girl! What is it, man? What do you know?" CHAPTER IX. DRAWN CLOSER. "You had better come into the house," again urged Mr. Churchill; "my daughter here may have something to tell you." Then James Wray looked eagerly at May, whose face grew very pale. "I fear there has been an accident," she faltered. "Not to Elsie? Not to my girl!" cried James Wray. "I--saw someone lying in Fern Dene--as if she had fallen," said May in a trembling voice; "I am not sure--who it was--not sure it was Miss Wray--I ran to tell father--"