wedding to that of his death on the horns of a buffalo; whereupon she
fatalistically attributed her daughter's ways to heredity. So while the two
incapables were sedulously covering up their tracks, the most placid
indifference as to their whereabouts reigned in Nunsmere.

The telegram, therefore, announcing their marriage found Zora entirely
unprepared for the news it contained. What a pitiful tragedy lay behind the
words she was a million miles from suspecting. She walked with her head
above such clouds, her eyes on the stars, taking little heed of the
happenings around her feet--and, if the truth is to be known, finding
mighty little instruction or entertainment in the firmament. The elopement,
for it was nothing more, brought her eyes, however, earthwards. "Why?" she
asked, not realizing it to be the most futile of questions when applied to
human actions. To every such "Why?" there are a myriad answers. When a
mysterious murder is committed, everyone seeks the motive. Unless
circumstance unquestionably provides the key of the enigma, who can tell?
It may be revenge for the foulest of wrongs. It may be that the assassin
objected to the wart on the other man's nose--and there are men to whom a
wart is a Pelion of rank offense, and who believe themselves
heaven-appointed to cut it off. It may be for worldly gain. It may be
merely for amusement. There is nothing so outrageous, so grotesque, which,
if the human brain has conceived it, the human hand has not done. Many a
man has taken a cab, on a sudden shower, merely to avoid the trouble of
unrolling his umbrella, and the sanest of women has been known to cheat a
'bus conductor of a penny, so as to wallow in the gratification of a
crossing-sweeper's blessing. When the philosopher asks the Everlasting Why,
he knows, if he be a sound philosopher--and a sound philosopher is he who
is not led into the grievous error of taking his philosophy seriously--that
the question is but the starting point of the entertaining game of
Speculation.