"You don't seem very pleased to see me, Prudence?"
"I am," said Prudence, in a dull, heavy voice; "if you had not come to me, I should have called at The Laurels. I want help."
"You shall have it," said Clarice, impetuously. "Whatever is the matter? Is it your brother's death?"
"Yes--that is one thing. Father is worried about that, but there is something else. If I explain myself to you, you must promise me never to speak of what I say to anyone."
"No, I won't," said Clarice, struck by her earnestness, and wondering what fatal secret was about to be unfolded. "Is it something that Ferdy has done?"
"Don't speak of Ferdy--don't speak of him. My poor, darling boy. I'll never see him again--never--never--never."
A wild fear was in Clarice's heart. "Prudence!" she exclaimed, catching the girl's arm; "has Ferdy been doing anything wrong?"
"No. Ferdy is all that can be desired, but I can never marry him."
"Why not?"
"Because," said Prudence, in a solemn manner, "if I marry Ferdy, my father will be accused of murdering Mr. Horran."