“There is a young lady here, miss, inquiring for the Vicar. I told her that Mr. Ffolliot would not be in for an hour or two, and she asked if she could speak to any other member of the family.”
“Do you know what she wants, Mary?” I asked.
The girl shook her head.
“No, miss. She would not say what her business was. She just wants to see one of you, she said.”
“You had better tell her that I am at home, and show her in here if she wishes to see me,” I directed.
She ushered in a young lady, short, dark, and thin. Her eyes were swollen as though with weeping, and her whole appearance seemed to indicate that she was in trouble. She sank into the chair to which I motioned her, and burst into tears.
“You must please forgive me,” she exclaimed, in a voice broken with sobs. “I have just come from abroad, and I have had a terrible shock.”
Some instinct seemed to tell me the truth.
My heart stood still.
“Are you any relation of the gentleman who was—who died here last week?” I asked, quickly.