He took them both in his own, and bestowed on her a grave but kindly smile. He also nodded to Grace, who had dropped her book and risen in courteous greeting.
“But you look sad and serious,” Merle went on, with quick intuition that his coming at this late hour meant something more than a mere neighborly visit.
“Something sad and serious has happened,” he replied.
Mrs. Darlington had advanced from her lamp-lit table.
“What?” she enquired eagerly. “Somehow I had a sense of impending trouble all day long.”
“Young Thurston of the rancho has met with an accident.”
“Dead?” gasped Merle, her hands clasped against her bosom.
“Yes, dead, I am afraid. He was mysteriously shot this afternoon when riding through the pine woods.”
Merle was stricken dumb. Grace glided to her side and listened in silent expectancy.
“Shot! By whom?” asked Mrs. Darlington.