Aunt Julia had good nerves, but she was a little startled when the door of the drawing-room was flung open, and she saw, standing in the doorway, the figure of Marjorie, white-robed, bare-footed, with both hands stretched out, and struggling in vain, as it seemed, to speak. “Marjorie! What is it?” cried Aunt Julia in a shaking voice. She found words at last. “Maurice is dead--dead! He fell--I saw him fall--over there, against the plantation, down into the quarry. He is dead!” There followed a burst of hysterical laughter, more bitter than any tears, and then she fainted away. * * * * * Aunt Julia stood in the porch, looking out. She was white to the lips. By the moonlight she could see the procession coming nearer--two men carrying lanterns, four men carrying a hurdle with a burden upon it, covered up altogether because it was broken and ghastly. LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.