And up the graveled path came a trio of young men who had left the house but a little while ago, laughing and jesting in the light-heartedness of youth. They come silently now, with blanched and solemn faces, and heavily-beating hearts. "Something dreadful has happened," they tell Mr. Langton. "We have found a dead man in the woods. It is Mr. Clyde. He is cold and stiff--has certainly been dead several hours. And, worst of all, he has most probably been murdered. There is a bullet-hole through his heart." Found murdered! With what an icy chill the words strike upon the senses in that beautiful, peaceful summer dawn. Having finished the packing of the box, Reine comes out, attracted by the hum of voices. The rich color pales in her cheeks at the dreadful news. "Oh, how terrible," she cries. "It was Maud's lover, and she loved him, poor girl!" She sees Vane Charteris wince, and feels as if she could bite her tongue off for the thoughtless words. Her heart sinks heavily. "He has given me his hand, but not his heart," she says to herself. "I must be very patient. Perhaps I may win his love yet. I must do so, for I cannot live without it." As she thinks all this, he comes to her side. The heart of the unloved bride beats quick and fast as the blue eyes fall upon her. But he has only come to say, coldly and carelessly: "Reine, you had better go in. This is too terrible a thing for a young girl's ears." CHAPTER VII. Yesterday, Reine would have defied Vane, and taken her own way, recklessly. To-day, filled with the yearning wish to win her husband's heart, she obeys with gentle dignity, and retires into the house. "I have read somewhere that love wins love," she says to herself. "If that be true, surely my patience, my gentleness, my devoted love will sometime win a return from him." * * * * * They hold an inquest over Mr. Clyde's body that day. No facts are elicited that throw any light on the manner of his death. He was a stranger in the neighborhood, boarding at a quiet farm-house for his health, he said. He had few friends and fewer enemies. The people who lodged him deposed that they had not seen him since their early seven o'clock supper, the evening previous. He had been in very gay and brilliant spirits then; had dressed himself elegantly and gone out before dark. No one had seen him until he was found dead in the woods this morning, shot through the heart. The physicians examine the corpse, and decide that he has been dead since nine o'clock last night, and suddenly a baleful whisper runs from lip to lip. There are a hundred people, guests of the grand wedding at Langton villa last night, who remember Maud Langton's abrupt entrance a little after nine o'clock, and her frank confession that she had gone away to marry Mr. Clyde, but had repented, and left him in spite of his threats. These facts are communicated to the coroner. He looks exceedingly grave.