“Well,” he replied, hesitatingly, “I don’t know. I—I really think it may be avoided.”
“If it is not quite necessary,” said Spenser Churchill, softly. “It is a trying ordeal for the survivor at any time, but with this poor child, so young and sensitive——”
“Yes, yes,” assented the doctor. “I do not think it will be necessary. Mr. Flint consulted me the day before yesterday, and I warned him then that he must be careful to avoid all excitement; indeed, I told him as plainly as I dared that any sudden shock would be fatal.”
“Dear me! Poor fellow!” murmured Spenser Churchill.
“And I think, under the circumstances, that I can give a certificate, and so avoid an inquest.”
Spenser Churchill heaved a soft sigh of relief.
“I shall be glad if you will tell me all you know respecting the case, Mr. Churchill?”
“Certainly,” assented Spenser Churchill, with a sigh. “It is soon told. I was strolling through the woods in the direction of the town—I had left the Towers half-an-hour previously—when I heard a girl’s voice—poor Miss Marlowe’s, in fact—crying piteously. I hurried up, and found her kneeling beside him. That is all, excepting that I am quite sure he was dead when I reached the spot, and I think he had been dead some time.”
The doctor smiled.
“And you met no one, saw no one excepting Miss Marlowe?”