“Certainly.” And the doctor, wondering much what had happened, rose to go.
“Stay!” said Sir Ronald. “What is it, Mrs. Glynn?”
“I cannot tell you, Sir Ronald, it is too horrible. My lady was not drowned.”
“Not drowned!” they repeated.
“No,” said the woman, with a shudder; “it is worse than that.”
Dr. Mayne waited to hear no more; he went to the poor lady’s room at once; Sir Ronald followed him. There they found the maid wringing her hands and crying aloud that it was a wicked and a cruel deed.
“Tell me what it is,” said the doctor, firmly.
Then Mrs. Glynn turned down the blue satin quilt.
“Look, sir,” she said; “when we began to undress the poor lady we found this.”
Dr. Mayne bent down and saw through the silken robe and fine white linen a cut made by some sharp instrument, evidently very small and pointed. He tore away the dress, and there on the white skin was a deep wound just over the heart. Only a few drops of blood had fallen from it; it was not large enough for a knife to have done it, it must have been caused by some sharp instrument long enough to have pierced the heart.