"It is there still; I did not touch it."
"Come, then, and show me the place," said Mrs. Tom, a sudden passionate outburst of sorrow breaking through all the composure she was endeavoring to assume.
Without exchanging a word, they hurried to the spot, where the ghastly handkerchief still fluttered in the breeze.
"Oh, it is hers!" exclaimed Mrs. Tom. "They have murdered her on the beach, and the tide has swept her away. Oh, Christie! Christie!"
And bowing her face in her hands, for the first time she wept passionately.
There was a long pause, broken only by Mrs. Tom's convulsive sobs. Sibyl stood wrestling with her own bitter thoughts, not daring to break in upon her grief by any useless words of comfort.
At last Mrs. Tom looked up, her tears seemingly changed to sparks of fire.
"Who has done this? You know!" she said, gloomily, laying her hand on Sibyl's arm.
"Heaven be merciful! I do not."
"Have you no idea? Is there no clew? Speak; for if there is law or justice in the land, those who have done this deed shall suffer."