“Oh, everything--of course. There was instant pursuit on the discovery of the body, but they seem to have got on the track of the wrong man--or, indeed, for anything certain, of no man at all. A coast-guardsman says that, on the night or rather morning in question, he was approaching a little cove on the shore, not above a mile from the scene of the tragedy, with an eye upon what seemed to be two fishermen preparing to launch their boat, when he saw a third man come running down the steep slope from the pastures above, and jump into the stern of it. Ere he could reach the spot, they were off, and had hoisted two lugsails. The moon was in the first of her last quarter, and gave light enough for what he reported. But, when inquiries founded on this evidence were made, nothing whatever could be discovered concerning boat or men. The next morning no fishing-boat was lacking, and no fisherman would confess to having gone from that cove. The marks of the boat’s keel, and of the men’s feet, on the sand, if ever there were any, had been washed out by the tide. It was concluded that the thing had been pre-arranged and provided for, and that the murderer had escaped, probably to Holland. Thereupon telegrams were shot in all directions, but no news could be gathered of any suspicious landing on the opposite coast. There the matter rests, or at least has rested for many weeks. Neither parents, relatives, nor friends appear to have a suspicion of anyone.” “Are there no conjectures as to motives?” asked Helen, feeling with joy her power of dissimulation gather strength. “No end of them. She was a beautiful creature, they say, sweet-tempered as a dove, and of course fond of admiration--whence the conjectures all turn on jealousy. The most likely thing seems, that she had some squire of low degree, of whom neither parents nor friends knew anything. That they themselves suspect this, appears likely from their more than apathy with regard to the discovery of the villain. I am strongly inclined to take the matter in hand myself.” “We must get him out of the country as soon as possible,” thought Helen. “I should hardly have thought it worthy of your gifts, George,” she said, “to turn police-man. For my part, I should not relish hunting down any poor wretch.” “The sacrifice of individual choice is a claim society has upon each of its members,” returned Bascombe. “Every murderer hanged, or better, imprisoned for life, is a gain to the community.” Helen said no more, and presently turned homewards, on the plea that she must not be longer absent from her invalid. END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. VOLUME II. CHAPTER I. RACHEL AND HER UNCLE. It was nearly dark when they arrived again at the lodge. Rachel opened the gate for them. Without even a THANK YOU, they rode out. She stood for a moment gazing after them through the dusk, then turned with a sigh, and went into the kitchen, where her uncle sat by the fire with a book in his hand.