Later, Mrs. Jennings herself arrived with the breakfast-tray, and looked excited as she placed it on the bed. "Oh, Mr. Haskins," she cried, with shining eyes, "such terrible news. That mad girl at the Pixy's House has murdered Miss Bellaria, and has bolted." "It is impossible," gasped Haskins, starting up in bed. "The milkman from Leegarth has just brought the news, sir." CHAPTER XV. A TRAGEDY. Mrs. Jennings' news was so startling that Gerald could only fall back on his pillow and stare at her excited face. Pleased with the effect which she produced, like all gossips, she continued rapidly to explain, breathlessly. "The milkman's master--Evans is his name--went at seven this morning with the milk to the Pixy's House. Miss Bellaria always came to the gate and opened it to take the milk in. He found the gate wide open, and Miss Bellaria lying on the path within the grounds, stabbed to the heart, and as dead as a stone. Evans gave the alarm in the village, and many people went into the grounds and up to examine the house. They found no one there: that poor lunatic was gone. Evans sent on his man to tell the police here, and he came in for a drink. I had the whole story out of him. Isn't it dreadful, sir? To think that we should have been talking of that crazy Meg only yesterday, and that she should commit so dreadful a crime." "Stop," said Gerald sharply, and somewhat recovering himself, "you cannot say if Miss Durham is guilty." Mrs. Jennings gaped. "Not say she is guilty! Why, sir, if she isn't, who can be? It's well known that Miss Durham, as you call her, sir, always wanted to kill people, and that was why she was shut up. Not being able to get at another person, she has murdered poor Miss Bellaria, who watched her, and then ran away--to murder again, I suppose. Oh, how very dreadful it all is! When I said yesterday that we might be murdered in our beds, I little thought that we should be." "Nonsense, nonsense!" "Begging your pardon, sir, but it's gospel truth that I am speaking," said the landlady, bristling, "with a lunatic at large one never knows what may happen. The police inspector--and a very nice man he is--has already sent to Denleigh asking Major Rebb to go to Leegarth. Everyone is talking about things with blood and slaughter in them. And I ask your pardon, sir, for having come into your bedroom, but I thought you would like to know. Oh, dear me! dear me!" Mrs. Jennings wrung her plump hands and retreated towards the door, in a flurried condition. "I'll bolt and bar every window and door at sunset: no murders for me."