Theodora's lips closed stubbornly, and her eyes, as they met those of her father, flashed with defiance. When at last she spoke, her manner was respectful, but her voice had an odd, metallic ring.
"And so Billy must have done it. What do you suppose he did to Vigil?"
"She was poisoned," the doctor answered briefly, for the subject was as painful to him as to his daughter.
"Do you think he did it on purpose?" Theodora's tone was hostile.
"Well, I know," she said passionately, for her self-control had been exhausted during the past half-hour; "but you might as well say he gave the horse poison out of spite as to say he did it at all. It's so like Billy to go meddling with what doesn't belong to him. It's so like him to lie about it afterwards. Papa McAlister, Billy Farrington doesn't lie, and he has said to you over and over again that he had nothing to do with it!"
"But Phebe says—"
"Phebe!" Theodora's voice was expressive. "You believe her above Billy?"
"Teddy, dear," the doctor's voice was very low and sorrowful; "don't make it harder for me than you can help. I have loved Billy like my own boy, and I have believed in his honor as I have in Hu's; but I have found something that tells the story. Down in the hay in Vigil's manger, I found this bottle." He held it up as he spoke, and Theodora read the label. "It is what Billy uses for his pictures; no one else touches the stuff."
"And you think he put it there?"