"And that was by her own especial desire?" said Captain Ayrley.
"Yes, it was her whim—her caprice."
"She may have had a reason for it," said the captain, gravely. "I should imagine she had."
"And what would you imagine that reason to be?" asked the earl.
"I should say that, for some reason or other, she was afraid of its being known. There are many things hidden in lives that seem calm and tranquil; it seems to me that the unfortunate young lady was afraid of some one, and perhaps had reason for it."
The earl sat in silence for some minutes, trying to think over all his daughter's past life; he could not remember anything that seemed to give the least color to the officer's suspicions. He raised his eyes gravely to the shrewd, keen face.
"You may be right, Captain Ayrley," he said; "it is within the bounds of possibility. But, frankly, on the honor of a gentleman, I know of nothing in my daughter's life that bears out your suspicions; therefore I should wish you not to mention them to any one else; they can only give pain. For my part, not understanding the destruction of the wedding-dress, I firmly believe that it is a case of intended burglary, and that either while trying to defend herself or to give the alarm, she was cruelly murdered. I believe that, and nothing more. At the same time, if you like to follow out any clew, I will do all in my power to help you. For the present we will not add to horror and grief by assuming that such a crime can be the result of jealous or misspent love. Try by all means to catch the murderer—never mind who or what he is."
Captain Ayrley promised to obey. Yet, though they searched and searched well, there was not the least trace, no mark of footsteps, no broken boughs, no stains of red finger marks, nor could they find any trace, in the neighborhood, of tramps, vagrants, or burglars. It seemed to Captain Ayrley, that the Linleigh Court murder would be handed down as a mystery to all time.
Lord Linleigh did not enter the room, where lay the beautiful, silent dead, with Earle, he dreaded the sight of his grief, he could not bear the thought of his sorrow.
Earle went in alone, closing the door behind him, that none might hear or see when he bade his love farewell. Those who watched in the outer room heard a sound of weeping and wild words: they heard sobs so deep and bitter, that it was heartrending to remember it was a strong man weeping there in his agony. They did not disturb him: perhaps Heaven in its mercy sent him some comfort—none came from earth; nothing came to soften the madness of anguish when he remembered this was to have been his wedding day, and now his beautiful, golden-haired darling lay dead, cold, silent, smiling—dead! What could lessen such anguish as his?