It is impossible for any pen to describe the deep and strange feeling which rested on the people, both gentle and simple, in the country round and in Castleborough on this sad and mysterious event. The violent death of so strong and active a man as Mr. Trant Drury, in passing that quiet ferry, never before stained by any human blood or witness to any human crime, on one of the loveliest evenings of summer, in brightest sunshine, and within a few hundred yards of Woodburn village. It would be equally impossible to express the great distress which existed within Woodburn Grange—the still more agonising and horrified affliction of the wife and daughter of the deceased. Vast crowds assembled to witness the funeral of the man so lately in fullest life, and a strange shiver of mysterious awe and wonder seemed to hang over the whole assembly, and as these crowds dispersed, to fall more profoundly on Woodburn and its neighbouring fields. Immediately after the funeral, Elizabeth Drury and her mother left Bilts’ Farm, and went to reside amongst their relatives in Yorkshire. Sad and silent was their departure. Elizabeth wrote short and most affecting notes of adieu to her dear friends—the Woodburns and the Heritages—saying that they could not bear to see any whom they loved so much. Yet George and Elizabeth had had a most heartrending interview, and he had begged earnestly and passionately that they would not give up the idea of some day, when their feelings were more calm, coming once more amongst them. He offered to overlook the farm, left in the hands of the bailiff, till they should determine ultimately what to do; and so it was left. After this, a calm seemed to fall on the neighbourhood and over this event; but this calm was only apparent. The subject was discussed everywhere,—in the Grey Goose amongst its evening circle; in the fields and woods by the workmen; in the cottages amongst the women; at the smithy, at Job Latter’s, where the patriarchs of the village often congregated to talk with him whilst he modelled a horse-shoe, or sharpened a ploughshare or a pick. But no inquiries, nor all the talk on the affair, had thrown, after many weeks, a single ray of light upon it. The doctor’s opinion that there had been foul play in the matter seemed to be finally that of every one, but no one had seen any person or persons about the ferry at that time. The subject was agitated in the neighbourhood, and a reward of two hundred pounds was offered by the family for the discovery of the supposed murderer or murderers. To this the Government, at the representation of the lord-lieutenant of the county, added another hundred. The constables, and many another person fond of gain, urged inquiries far and wide. Repeated visits to the ferry were made, and conjectures there thrown out of how the event might have happened accidentally or otherwise, but they produced nothing like a ray of elucidation.