quiet breeze played in her fair hair, and stirred gently a stray
curl that had escaped across her broad low brow.

The picture was one of gentleness and peace and an innocence that
thought no wrong, and yet with his own eyes he had seen her not
an hour ago fleeing with hurried steps and fearful looks from the
spot where lay a murdered man.

Somewhat unsteadily, for he felt so little master of himself, it
was as though he had no longer even control of his own limbs, Dunn
stumbled forward, and Ella looked up and saw him, and saw also that
he was looking at her very strangely.

She rose and came towards him, her needlework still in her hands.

"What is the matter?" she said in a voice of some concern. "Are
you ill?"

"No," he answered. "No. I've been looking for Mr. Clive."

"Have you?" she said, a little surprised apparently, but in no
way flustered or disturbed. "Did you find him?"

Dunn did not answer, for indeed he could not, and she said again:

"Did you find him?"

Still he made no answer, for it seemed to him those four words were
the most awful that any one had ever uttered since the beginning of
the world.