doubt that still shadowed his face, and made him offer neither remark nor sympathy, and he had a still more poignant sense of what horror and fear he must have endured had he been indeed guilty of his enemy's death.
Having hurriedly changed his clothing, he went to look for his daughter. She was lying on a sofa in the small parlor that was now their usual sitting-room. The fire was burning brightly, and the tray with the teacups on the table, but the lights were unlit, and her face was turned to the wall, for she had been weeping bitterly ever since her unexpected meeting with Anthony in the lane. When she heard her father's step she made haste to dry her eyes, and as he entered the room she rose to meet him.
In a moment she was aware of something unusual and terrible; Jonathan's face had yet upon it the solemn shadow of one who has been in the awful presence of Death. She went to his side, and said, in a low voice, "Father, what is it?"
He put his arm around her, and answered, "Thy husband hes been a' but murdered. Now, if ta is half a woman, thou wilt go to him."
She lifted her eyes quickly to his face, and
