"In the fearful storm of last night, she was most foully murdered. Poor, gentle little Christie!"
He knew all now, he remembered her resemblance to his wife; that had deceived him. She, then, had been his victim. In spite of all his resolve to be calm, he was forced to grasp a chair to steady himself. But in her sorrow and horror, his wife did not perceive his increasing agitation.
"Dear beautiful Christie! so fair, so young, so gentle, to meet so terrible a fate. Oh, Edgar, what a demon her assassin must have been, worse than a demon, for even a demon would not have committed such a deed. Poor little child! what an awful doom was hers."
He had recovered his outward calmness by this time, and, steadying his trembling voice, he asked:
"Who could have done the deed?"
"No one knows. Mrs. Tom and Sibyl Campbell have only just arrived, and all they can tell about it is, that, owing to some unknown cause, she either left or was borne from the house during the night, and part of her clothing was found this morning covered with blood. The body could not be found, and it is supposed it was carried away by the waves. Oh, it is horrible! What crime would not men be guilty of, since they could even murder that gentle girl. The proper authorities are about to be apprised of the fact, and the island is to be searched to see if any clew to the discovery of the murderer can be found."
"What is supposed to be the cause of the murder?"
"Oh, there is no cause assigned. Everything is wrapped in the deepest mystery; but I have an idea of my own. You know poor Christie was exceedingly beautiful, and some one may have become enamored of her and attempted to carry her off, thinking the night and storm favorable to his purpose. Most probably she resisted; and, failing in his purpose, in a fit of passion he may have slain her, and fled to escape the consequences of the act."
"Most probably that is it," said Courtney, wishing fervently that every one else would adopt his opinion.
"But, oh, it is terrible—terrible!" exclaimed Laura. "Poor little Christie! And her aunt is almost deranged. Oh, to think we should all have been safe here, thinking only of our own petty troubles, while she was lying, wounded and dying, exposed to the fury of the winds and waves! I do not know how it is, but there is a feeling of remorse in my heart, as if I were in some way accountable for this crime."