She spared no pains to make herself beautiful--she placed a strong guard upon her feelings. Never had she been more charming, but she was glad when the strain of the evening was over and she could put her head down on her pillow in the friendly darkness and let the lying smile fade from her lips. The slow hours of the night wore on, bringing the morrow--the morrow, and what? Would the river give up its dead? Perhaps--but surely there could be no clew connecting her with the secret of the murder. Why should she keep on thinking of that? It was impossible. Ah, if only she could sleep! If only to-morrow did not haunt her so! At last, just before the faint dawn-light crept into the eastern sky, the tired lids dropped and she slept heavily--so heavily that hours went by unheeded and the sun was high when she awoke again. To-morrow was here, and with it sensational tidings. A dead man had been found in the river a mile below Verelands--a murdered man, and he had been identified as Robert Lacy, the valet of Lord Stuart. Norman himself told her this when she came down to a late breakfast, and she asked eagerly, with an appearance of interest: “Murdered? Who could have done it?” “That is the strangest part of it. There is not the slightest clew to the murderer. The man was a stranger here. He had made no friends nor enemies in the place so far as known. An inquest will be held to-day, and if any one knows anything it will probably come out there,” he said. “What does Lord Stuart think? What does he say?” she inquired, eagerly. “He thinks it may be a case of suicide. He says the man was morose and unhappy. It would have been quite natural for him to tire of his life and throw it away.” “Of course,” she said. Her heart throbbed with relief. She blessed Lord Stuart for his clever thought. “I am going now to attend the inquest,” Norman continued. “Oh, pray do not! How can men have the heart to care for such horrible things?” cried Camille. But all her blandishments could not keep him away. “I will come back as soon as possible and tell you all about it,” he said, as he kissed her and went away. Camille flung herself upon a sofa and waited in wild suspense for his return. Presently some callers came in. They could talk of nothing but the murder of Lord Stuart’s handsome valet. She was glad when they went away. It was so hard to keep up an appearance of careless interest when her head was burning and her feet and hands were like ice. Oh! when would Norman come back? She longed yet dreaded for him to return with the verdict of the coroner’s jury. Suddenly he appeared before her, pale and with a troubled light in his dark eyes. “Camille, they have sent me for you. You are wanted as a witness at the inquest,” he said, abruptly, and a low cry of alarm burst from her ashen lips. “But I know nothing about it--I have never even seen the man!” she exclaimed, hoarsely. CHAPTER XVI.