Then one could see it was the body of a young and most beautiful woman, richly dressed. A long robe of blue silk and white lace clung to the perfect limbs; there were rings on the fingers; a costly bracelet on one arm; a golden chain of rare beauty round the neck; a watch, small and richly jeweled; brooches and earrings. Very ghastly the rich jewels looked on the dead body.
“Is she really dead?” cried the maid who had been the first to find her, Mary Thorne. She knelt down by Lady Alden’s side. With trembling fingers she opened the silken robe, and placed her hand on the quiet heart.
“It does not beat,” she cried. “Oh, my lady, my lady is dead!”
An elderly man, who had been butler at Aldenmere for many years, assumed the command.
“Tear down some of those big branches,” he said, “and make a litter of them, then carry your lady to the house. You, Griffiths, saddle the fleetest horse in the stable and ride to Leeholme; bring both doctors with you. Hunter, you take Sir Ronald’s own horse and go in search of him; does any one know where he went?”
“Sir Ronald is gone to Thurston,” replied one of the grooms. “I saddled his horse this morning before ten.”
“Then you will be able to find him. Do not tell him the news suddenly, Hunter; tell him first that my lady is ill, and he is wanted at once at home.”
His directions were quickly followed out; they tore down the branch on which the bird had been swaying and singing, the bird flew frightened away. They carried her home, through the sunny glades of the park, crushing the sweet flowers under foot; and it was thus that Lady Clarice Alden was brought for the last time to her own home.
CHAPTER II.
WHO KILLED LADY CLARICE?
The news spread like lightning; the men, as they rode furiously in search of her husband and doctor, told the story to those who listened with horror-stricken faces.