"It may not be Harold at all," said her father, impatiently; "you are jumping to conclusions--the wildest conclusions, Brenda. Did you see his face?"
"No; how could I? It was dark."
"Then how on earth do you know it was Captain Burton?"
"I am not sure, of course; but I think so. Oh, father, do you think---- Oh, perhaps, after all, it may not have been Harold."
Scarse shook off her clinging hands. "I think you're a fool," he said sharply, "and this wild talk of Burton's being dead is pure imagination on your part."
"I hope so--oh, how I hope so!" and Brenda shivered.
Van Zwieten, who had been listening with a cynical smile on his face, burst into a laugh, at which Brenda looked angrily at him. "Excuse me, Miss Scarse," he said politely, "but it is my opinion no one is dead at all. The shot and cry were no doubt the outcome of a thundercrash. You were upset by the storm, and it seemed to you like--what you say."
"But a man is dead," protested Brenda, rising. "In my anxiety for Harold I may have been mistaken in thinking it was he. Still, some one was shot--I fell over the body and fainted."
"The man may have fainted also," suggested her father.
"If I may make a suggestion," said Van Zwieten, with strong common sense, "we are all talking without any reasonable sort of basis. Before we assume that a crime has been committed, I would suggest that we go to the orchards and see if we can find the body."