Tears came into Laura's eyes as she spoke of the friend she had loved, and through their mist she did not see how Olive Henderson's face was darkening.
"I never received such a shock as when I heard she was missing. I had been with her a little before, and she had been talking so strangely and wildly, asking me if I thought drowning was an easy death. It frightened me; but I never thought she would do so dreadful a deed."
"There can be no doubt, I suppose, but that it was suicide?"
"Oh no! but she was delirious; she was not herself—my poor, poor Natty! They talk of broken hearts—if ever any one's heart broke, it was hers!"
The strange, dark gloom falling like a pall on the face of the heiress, darkened, but Laura did not notice.
"Was it," she hesitated, and averted her face; "was it the loss of this fortune?"
"That, among other things; but I think she felt most of all about poor Charley. Ah! what a handsome fellow he was, and so fond of fun and frolic—every one loved Charley! I suppose Mrs. Darcy told you all the story?"
"Yes. You are quite sure it wasn't he, after all, who committed the murder?"
"Sure!" Laura cried, indignantly. "I am certain! If everybody hadn't been a pack of geese, they would never have suspected Charley Marsh, who wouldn't hurt a fly! No, it was some one else, and Val—I mean Mr. Blake—says if ever Cherrie Nettleby is found, it will be sure to come out!"
"And Mr. Blake supports Mrs. Marsh, Mrs. Darcy says. That is very good of him."