“How awful!” cried the doctor, hoarsely; “why, Lady Alden has been murdered—murdered, I say, Sir Ronald, and flung into the water—look!”
Sir Ronald bent down and saw the mark.
“She has been stabbed through the heart. She must have died in an instant, and then have been thrown into the water. This is no accident, but foul, black, treacherous murder! I cannot even imagine what weapon has been used. It was evidently not much larger than a common bodkin, but long and sharp. Who can have done such a deed, Sir Ronald?”
“I cannot tell; she had not an enemy in the world. I cannot guess.”
“You had better come away from this room,” said the doctor, compassionately; “we can do no good; it only makes you wretched.”
“I will go to my room,” said Sir Ronald, hoarsely; “I—I cannot bear it, doctor—you must see to everything for me.”
And Sir Ronald, with tottering steps, went from the death chamber, where the horror seemed to be deepening every hour, and Dr. Mayne was left to do the best he could.
“It is too horrible,” he said to Mrs. Glynn. “I do not think such an event ever happened before in the memory of man. Will you see that one of the grooms goes at once to Leeholme and brings back the inspector of police?—there is no time to lose.”
If the little bird which had sung upon the branches could have spoken and have told what had happened that summer morning in the Holme Woods!