"It doesn't matter, Sara."
"I want you to go with me to Burton's Inn."
"Burton's Inn?"
"That is the place where my husband was killed," she said, quite steadily.
He started. "Oh! But—do you think it best, Sara, to open old wounds by—"
"I have thought it all out, Brandon. I want to go there—just once. I want to go into that room again."
CHAPTER XX — ONCE MORE AT BURTON'S INN
Again Sara Wrandall found herself in that never-to-be-forgotten room at Burton's Inn. On that grim night in March, she had entered without fear or trembling because she knew what was there. Now she quaked with a mighty chill of terror, for she knew not what was there in the quiet, now sequestered room. Burton had told them on their arrival after a long drive across country that patrons of the inn invariably asked which room it was that had been the scene of the tragedy, and, on finding out, refused point-blank to occupy it. In consequence, he had been obliged to transform it into a sort of store and baggage room.