"Did you know Mr. Holmes when he lived there?"
"No. He was fourteen years old when we met at school."
"The homestead is a pitiable wreck," continued Ida. "'A lonely tree and a desolated hearth!' he said. Those mournful words will haunt me."
"His is a sad story. His parents died within a month of each other—one by the hand of violence, the other of a broken heart. He had lost a sister previously; a year later his brother went to sea, and ship nor passengers reached the port. It is now three years since the death of a younger sister, a lovely girl, of consumption. This train of misfortunes hangs upon Lynn's mind and heart. He will have it that he belongs to a doomed race. But for his warm social sympathies, and devotion to his art, the superstition would become a monomania."
"You say his father died by violence; was he murdered?"
"In cold blood."
"Horrible! And the assassin?"
"Walks the earth, an honourable man! The sword of justice has no point for the duellist."
"This heathenish practice is a disgraceful stain upon the escutcheon of our State," said Ida. "The laws are not in fault; popular prejudice does not sustain them."
"If they would make me autocrat for one year I would pledge myself to abolish this system of double murdering," returned he.