cry. With a good deal of trouble on Mr. Verner’s part, owing to the young gentleman’s timidity, and some circumlocution on his own, the facts, so far as he was cognisant of them, were drawn forth. It appeared that after he had emerged from the field, when he made that slight diversion in pursuit of the running animal, he continued his road, and had gained the lonely part near where the pond was situated, when young Broom, the son of Mr. Verner’s gamekeeper, ran up and asked him what was the matter, and whether anybody was in the pond. Broom did not wait for an answer, but went on to the pond, and Dan Duff followed him. Sure enough, Rachel Frost was in it. They knew her by her clothes, as she rose to the surface. Dan Duff, in his terror, went back shrieking to Verner’s Pride, and young Broom, more sensibly, ran for help to get her out.
“How did young Broom know, or suspect, there was anybody in the pool?” questioned Mr. Verner.
“I dun know, please, sir,” sobbed Dan Duff. “That was what he said as he runned off to it. He asked me if I had seen any folks about, and I said I’d only seen that ’un in the lane.”
“Who did you see in the lane?”
“I dun know who it was, please sir,” returned Dan, sniffing greatly. “I wasn’t a-nigh him.”
“But you must have been nigh him, if you met him in the lane.”
“Please, sir, I wasn’t in the lane then. I had runned into the field after a cat.”
“After a cat!”
“Please, sir, ’twere a cat, I think. But it got away, and I didn’t find it. I saw somebody a-passing of the gate up the lane, but I warn’t quick enough to see who.”
“Going which way?”
“Please, sir, up towards here. If I hadn’t turned into the field, I should ha’ met him face to face. I dun know who it was.”
“Did you hear any noise near the pool, or see any movement in its direction, before you were accosted by Broom?”
“Please, sir, no.”
It appeared to be of little use to detain Mr. Duff. In his stead young Broom was called in. A fine-grown young fellow of nineteen, whose temperament may be indicated by two words—cool and lazy. He was desired to give his own explanation.
“I was going home for the night, sir,” he began in answer, “when I heard the sound of voices in dispute. They seemed to come from the direction of the grove of trees near the Willow-pond, and I stayed to listen. I thought perhaps some of the Dawsons and Roy had come to an encounter out there; but I soon found that one of the voices was that of a woman. Quite a young voice it sounded, and it was broke by sobs and tears. The other voice was a man’s.”
“Only two! Did you recognise them?”
“No, sir, I did not recognise them; I was too far off, maybe. I only made out that it was two—a man’s and a woman’s. I stopped a few minutes, listening, and they seemed to quiet down, and then, as I was going on again, I came up to Mrs. Roy. She was kneeling down, and”
“Kneeling down?” interrupted Mr. Verner.
“She was kneeling down, sir, with her hands clasped round a trunk of a tree, like one in mortal fright. She laid hold of me then, and I asked what was the matter with her, and she answered that she had been a’most frightened to death. I asked whether it was at the quarrel, but she only said, ‘Hush! listen!’ and at last she set on to cry. Just then we heard an awful shriek, and a plunge into the water. ‘There goes something into the Willow-pool,’ said I, and I was turning to run to it, when Mrs. Roy shrieked out louder than the other shriek had been, and fell flat down on the earth. I never hardly see such a face afore, for ghastliness. The moon was shining out full then, and it daunted me to look at her. I thought she was dead—that the fright had killed her. There wasn’t a bit o’ breath in her body, and I raised her head up, not knowing what to do with her. Presently she heaved a sort of sigh, and opened her eyes; and with that she seemed to recollect herself, and asked what was in the pond. I left her and went off to it, meeting Dan Duff—and we found it was Rachel Frost. Dan, he set on to howl, and wouldn’t stay, and I went for the nearest help, and got her out. That’s all, sir.”
“Was she already dead?”
“Well, sir, when you first get a person out o’ the water it’s hard to say whether they be dead or not. She seemed dead. But, perhaps, if there had been means right at hand, she might have been brought-to again.”
A moan of pain from old Matthew. Mr. Verner continued as it died out:
“Rachel Frost’s voice must have been one of those you heard in dispute?”
“Not a doubt of that, sir,” replied young Broom. “Any more than that there must have been foul play at work to get her into the pond, or that the other disputing voice must have belonged to the man who did it.”
“Softly, softly,” said Mr. Verner. “Did you see any man about?”
“I saw nobody at all, sir, saving Dan Duff and Mrs. Roy; and Rachel’s quarrel could not have been with either of them. Whoever the other was, he had made himself scarce.”
Robin Frost took a step forward, respectfully.
“Did you mind, sir, that Mother Duff’s Dan spoke to seeing some person in the lane?”
“I do,” replied Mr. Verner. “I should like to ask the boy another question or two upon that point. Call him in, one of you.”
John Massingbird went out and brought back the boy.
“Mind you have your wits sharp about you this time, Mr. Duff,” he remarked—which piece of advice had the effect of scaring Mr. Duff’s wits more completely away than they had been scared before. “You tell us that you saw a man pass up the lane when you were in the field after the cat,” began Mr. Verner; “was the man walking fast?”
“Please, sir, yes. Afore I could get out o’ the