"I don't know. Miss Brenda sez as there's murder. Oh, lor', what will become of us!" Scarse shook her so that her teeth chattered. "Go back to the kitchen," he said sternly. "I'll follow directly," and Tilda found herself hurled against the wall, with the study door closed and locked. Her surprise at such treatment overcame even her terror. "Well, 'e is a father!" she gasped, and her wits being somewhat more agile now that she was less afraid, she flew to the dining-room and snatched the spirit-stand from the sideboard. With this she arrived in the kitchen and found Brenda regaining her senses. "Ain't 'e comin'?" asked Mrs. Daw, slapping Brenda's hands violently as a restorative measure. "In a minute. 'Ere, give 'er some brandy. Where's a glarss? Oh, a cup'll do. Oh, ain't it all dreadful; just 'ear the wind!" "Hold your tongue and lock the door," said Mrs. Daw, snatching the cup from Tilda. "Come, miss, try and drink this." She forced the strong spirit down Brenda's throat. The girl gasped and coughed, then the color slowly mounted to her cheeks, and she raised her head feebly. "What is it?" she asked faintly. Then she shuddered and covered her face. "Ah! the murder! Shot!--shot--oh, God, how terrible!" "Don't you be afraid, miss; the doors are all locked, an' nothin' or no one can git in." Then a shriek from Mrs. Daw followed a sudden clanging of the bell. "Whatever's that?" "Front door," replied Tilda, casting a glance at the row of bells. "I'll answer; give 'er more brandy, cook." As the housemaid left, Brenda moaned and struggled to her feet. "Oh, the terrible darkness--the body--his body--in the wet grass! Father! Where is my father?" "'E's a comin', dearie," said Mrs. Daw, giving her more brandy. "Take another sup, dearie. Who is it as is murdered, miss?" she asked in a scared whisper. "I don't know. I could not see--the darkness--I fell over the body. I saw nothing. Oh!" She started up with a shriek. "Oh, if it really should be Harold!" Then she was overcome with anguish, and Tilda darted back to the kitchen. "Would you believe," cried she to Mrs. Daw, "it's the furriner! An' master said as 'e was in 'is study talkin' to 'im!" "Lor', so 'e did!" said Mrs. Daw, awestruck at having detected her master in a lie. "And 'e was out all the time! What does Mr. van Zwieten say, Tilda?" "Van Zwieten!" shrieked Brenda, who was clinging to the table. "Has he been out? Ah! he hated Harold--the dead man--oh!" her voice leaped an octave, "he has killed my Harold!" "What!" shrieked the other woman in turn, and Mrs. Daw, throwing her apron over her head, began to scream with the full force of her lungs. Tilda joined in, losing all remnant of control, and Brenda sank in a chair white-faced and silent. The conviction that Harold had been murdered stunned her.