George was buried, his house was sold, and his widow went with her children to live at Alversthorpe Hall, old Mr Travers’ place in Cumberland.
Mabel appeared quite as inconsolable as the bereaved wife.
“Do you believe the police will ever find the murderer?” she asked me one evening, when we were sitting alone.
“I really can’t tell, dear,” I replied, noticing how haggard and serious was her face as she gazed fixedly into the fire.
“Have—have they discovered anything?” she inquired hesitatingly.
“Yes,” I answered. “They found the marks of a woman’s shoes upon the lawn.”
She started visibly and held her breath.
“Ah!” she gasped; “I—I thought they would. I knew it—I knew—”
Then, sighing, she drew her hand quickly across her brow, and, rising, left me abruptly.