There was no answer to this, and Cyril gave up his father's fate as a riddle, when he walked in the cool of the evening towards the Solitary Farm. The immediate object of his visit was to find if Mrs. Vand, dead or alive, was concealed in the thickly standing corn. Bella strolled by his side. But the lovers had taken no one into this particular confidence, not even Dora, and walked towards the well-known house, and up the corn-path, anxiously looking right and left. Then Cyril uttered an exclamation of annoyance. "What a bother!" he said, much vexed: "see, Bella, there are labourers still reaping--yonder, near the scarecrow." "I suppose Mr. Timson wants the fields reaped quickly," said Bella, also much vexed. "I thought everyone would have been gone by this time. We must wait until the labourers depart, Cyril. It will never do to find Mrs. Vand while they are about. They would tell the police, and she would be arrested. That would be dangerous!" "So it will be--if she is alive," said the young man, who was very doubtful on this point himself. The setting sun cast a rosy glow over the fields of golden grain. The old house seemed to be buried in a treasure meadow. All round rolled the radiant waves, and the scarlet-coated scarecrow's task was nearly done. The corn was ripe for the harvest, and soon the acres of the Solitary Farm would consist of nothing but stubble. As the lovers drew near the house, they saw a labourer approach the scarecrow. The corn had been reaped for some distance all round it, and now a man had cut a path direct to it in order to pull it down. Its task was over, and it was no longer needed to keep off the birds. Suddenly the man laid his hand on the quaint figure, which had been so familiar to every one for months, and uttered a loud cry of astonishment. Cyril saw him beckoning to other labourers, and shortly there was a crowd round the scarlet coat. "What is the matter?" asked Bella, and the lovers hurried to join the group. One of the labourers heard the question, and turned excitedly. "Master! Missus!" he said, in horrified tone, "it's a corpse." He pulled the tattered gray felt hat from the scarecrow, and Cyril recoiled with a loud cry of surprise. "Bella! Bella!" "What is it? what is it?" she said, startled by the discovery. "It is my father. It is Edwin Lister." All present knew of the tragedy, and of the hunt made for Edwin Lister. And now the missing man had been discovered. One of the labourers, mindful of public house gossip, touched the drooping neck of the figure, and shuddered. "Take missy away," he said softly to Cyril, and with a grey face, "this ain't no sight for her. His throat has been cut."