"I went to see Lady Jenny at the Manor, about--about Harold's money. She was not in, so I came back by the short cut through the orchards. A flash of lightning showed him to me there, standing under a tree. Then there was a shot and a cry, and I ran forward, and fell over his body." "Whose body?" "I don't know--at least, I think it was Harold's body. Mr. van Zwieten hated him." "It may not be Harold at all," said her father, impatiently; "you are jumping to conclusions--the wildest conclusions, Brenda. Did you see his face?" "No; how could I? It was dark." "Then how on earth do you know it was Captain Burton?" "I am not sure, of course; but I think so. Oh, father, do you think---- Oh, perhaps, after all, it may not have been Harold." Scarse shook off her clinging hands. "I think you're a fool," he said sharply, "and this wild talk of Burton's being dead is pure imagination on your part." "I hope so--oh, how I hope so!" and Brenda shivered. Van Zwieten, who had been listening with a cynical smile on his face, burst into a laugh, at which Brenda looked angrily at him. "Excuse me, Miss Scarse," he said politely, "but it is my opinion no one is dead at all. The shot and cry were no doubt the outcome of a thundercrash. You were upset by the storm, and it seemed to you like--what you say." "But a man is dead," protested Brenda, rising. "In my anxiety for Harold I may have been mistaken in thinking it was he. Still, some one was shot--I fell over the body and fainted." "The man may have fainted also," suggested her father. "If I may make a suggestion," said Van Zwieten, with strong common sense, "we are all talking without any reasonable sort of basis. Before we assume that a crime has been committed, I would suggest that we go to the orchards and see if we can find the body." "No, no," cried Scarse, shrinking back. "Impossible at this hour, and on such a night." "The storm is dying away," said the Dutchman, derisively. "However, if you don't care to come, I can go myself." "I will go with you," cried Brenda, springing to her feet. "For you, Miss Scarse, I think it is hardly wise. You are very much upset. Had you not better go to bed?" "I couldn't sleep with this on my mind. I must know if it is Harold or not. If it is, I am certain you shot him, and until I know the truth I don't let you out of my sight." "Very good." Van Zwieten bowed and smiled. "Come, then, and guide me." "Brenda, you can't go out now. I forbid you--it is not fit or proper." "What do I care for propriety in such a case as this?" cried Brenda, in a passion. "Come with me then, father." "No, I can't--I am too ill."