There was no answer. The face was rigid and fixed. Around the neck was a faint, bluish line, a mark like what might have been made by a cord. “Johnnie, Johnnie!” cried the old man again, in piercing tones. He caught at the hands of the figure before him; he tried to pull it forward. There was no response. The old man turned away and rushed to the window, gasping, with white lips, and bloodshot eyes, and a face of horror. “He is dead!” he shrieked. “My boy--my son--my Johnnie! Murderer! You have killed him.” The landlord and the servants started back in horror from the presence of this father in his misery. It was for but a moment that he stood there. He went back and flung himself upon the bed. Then he came forth again and stood upon the balcony, motionless, white-faced, speechless--his lips muttering inaudible words. A crowd gathered round. The story soon spread. This was the father of a young man who had stopped at the inn and died suddenly. The crowd that gathered around the inn saw the father as he stood on the balcony. The dwellers in the cottage that was almost opposite saw him, and Asgeelo brought them the news. CHAPTER LVII. MRS. COMPTON’S SECRET. On the night after the arrival of John, Brandon had left Denton. He did not return till the following day. On arriving at the inn he saw an unusual spectacle--the old man on the balcony, the crowd of villagers around, the universal excitement. On entering the inn he found some one who for some time had been waiting to see him. It was Philips. Philips had come early in the morning, and had been over to the cottage. He had learned all about the affair at the inn, and narrated it to Brandon, who listened with his usual calmness. He then gave him a letter from Frank, which Brandon read, and put in his pocket. Then Philips told him the news which he had learned at the cottage about Langhetti. Langhetti and Despard were both there yet, the former very dangerously ill, the latter waiting for some friends. He also told about the affair on the road, the seizure of Clark, and his delivery into the hands of the authorities. Brandon heard all this with the deepest interest. While the excitement at the inn was still at its height, he hurried off to the magistrate into whose hands Clark had been committed. After an interview with him he returned. He found the excitement unabated. He then went to the cottage close by the inn, where Beatrice had found a home, and Langhetti a refuge. Philips was with him. On knocking at the door Asgeelo opened it. They entered the parlor, and in a short time Mrs. Compton appeared. Brandon’s first inquiry was after Langhetti. “He is about the same,” said Mrs. Compton. “Does the doctor hold out any hopes of his recovery?” asked Brandon, anxiously. “Very little,” said Mrs. Compton. “Who nurses him?” “Miss Potts and Mr. Despard.” “Are they both here?” “Yes.” Brandon was silent. “I will go and tell them that you are here,” said Mrs. Compton.