Sam, in about three stolid words, protested, as before, he couldn't say _what_ was the matter; except that he had been sent off for Miss Jane. Jane noticed, and thought it odd, that he did not look at her as he spoke, though he was frank and open by habit; he had never looked in any of their faces since coming to the door. "Where's Mr. Oliver?" she asked. But Sam only muttered that he "couldn't say," and drove swiftly. They went on in silence after that, Jane seeing it would be useless to inquire further, and were soon at Duck Brook. She felt very uneasy. What she feared was, that her father and Oliver might have quarrelled, and that the latter was about to be turned summarily out of doors. "Why, there's Mr. Oliver!" she exclaimed. "Pull up, Sam." They were passing the first Inlet. Oliver stood at the top of it, facing the road, evidently looking out for her, as Jane thought. His gaze was fixed, his face white as death. "I told you to pull up, Sam; how dare you disobey me and drive on in that way?" cried Jane; for Sam had whipped up the horse instead of stopping. Jane, looking at his face saw it had gone white too. "There he is! there he is again! There's Mr. Oliver!" They had approached the other Inlet as Jane spoke. Oliver stood at the top of it, exactly as he had stood at the other, his gaze fixed on her, his face ghastly. Not a muscle of his face moved; a dead man could not be more still. Sam, full of terror, was driving on like lightning, as if some evil thing were pursuing him. And now Jane turned pale. What did it mean? these two appearances? It was totally impossible for Oliver to be at the last Inlet, if it was he who stood at the other. A bird of the air might have picked him up, carried him swiftly over the trees and dropped him at the second Inlet; nothing else could have done it in the time. What did it mean? Mr. Preen was waiting at the door to receive Jane. He came a little way with slow steps down the path to meet her as the gig stopped. She ran in at the gate. "What has happened, papa?" she cried. "Where's Oliver?" Oliver was upstairs, lying upon his bed--dead. Mr. Preen disclosed it to her as gently as he knew how. * * * * * It was all too true. Oliver had died about two hours before. He had shot himself at the Inlets, close by the melancholy osiers that grew over the brook.