A minute later Julia and John were passing through the garden, side by side.
"Of course you read in the paper about Uncle Arthur's death?" she said.
John flushed guiltily, and he gave her a covert look. Her face was a little shadowed, and very sweet.
"Yes," he answered, seeking vainly in his mind for an excuse to change the subject.
"It was all very queer," she resumed, puckering her brow and shaking her head slowly. "The letter from the lawyer was so formal, and was not explicit. We have feared there was some mistake, as we have not heard from Uncle Arthur for so many years. Father wrote to the lawyer asking for further details, but has heard nothing from him."
"It was queer," admitted Glenning, feeling the weight of his duplicity, while his conscience writhed as though a white hot iron had touched it.
"It saddened us so much to think that he was coming back to us, and did not live to get home. Wasn't it dreadful?"
"Indeed it was."
John drew a long breath, and fidgeted inwardly. They had reached the stone fence bounding the garden, and he seized his chance.
"Let me help you over!" he cried, leaping to the flat top of the fence and extending his hand.