There was a silence after this.
It was broken presently by one of the auditors.
“And that was the man they put in jail,” he said, bitterly.
“Yes, and murdered,” responded the others.
Jacquelin rode on. He, too, felt that Dr. Cary had been murdered.
When he reached Dr. Cary’s, the first person he met was Mammy Krenda. The old woman was the picture of grief. She did not utter a word, nor did the young man. She simply opened the door and stood aside while he softly entered the little room where rested the silent form of her old master. The quiet figure, the calm, upturned face, had suddenly ennobled the little apartment. The hours that had passed had smoothed out the traces of care and pain, and the Doctor lay in perfect rest. There was, perhaps, a trace of scorn of the ills he had so long faced, but Jacquelin did not note it. What he saw was only perfect peace, and a face of undisturbed nobility. Gazing down on it, his heart softened; his bitter thoughts passed away, and he sank on his knees, and thanked God for such a life.
He became conscious presently that someone was standing by him, and he rose and faced Blair. Neither spoke a word; but he took her hand and held it, and the next second she sank on her knees, and after a moment he knelt beside her.