"Ruby."
Loud and stern rang the miller's voice, calling for aid, and one servant was dispatched for the village doctor, for Mrs. Raymond still lay in a swoon, and another for Kent Lomax.
They arrived together, and Kent Lomax looked like a corpse as the miller read his daughter's letter, for the eyes of the deserted lover were blinded with grief and all seemed blurred before him.
"Miller Raymond," said the doctor softly, as he bent over the form of the mother.
"Well."
"Nerve yourself for another bitter blow."
"Oh Heaven! another?"
"Your wife is dead," was the low response, and the miller groaned, as he sank upon his knees by the body of his wife and grasping her hand buried his face in the pillow by the side of the one who had for twenty years borne his name, the mother of his child who had struck the death-blow.
"Dead! dead!" shouted Kent Lomax with wild eyes and writhing face.
"That man did this deed, for he fascinated poor Ruby, won her from me, from home, from all, and by the eternal Heaven I will track him to the death for this!