The coroner was a man of but few words, and but little given to
emotion. Yet they were surprised at his first question:

"Who is the young woman standing outside there, the only one in
the yard?"

Mr. Sutherland, moving rapidly to the window, drew aside the
shade.

"It is Miss Page, my housekeeper's niece," he explained. "I do not
understand her interest in this affair. She followed me here from
the house and could hardly be got to leave this room, into which
she intruded herself against my express command."

"But look at her attitude!" It was Mr. Fenton who spoke. "She's
crazier than Philemon, it seems to me."

There was some reason for this remark. Guarded by the high fence
from the gaze of the pushing crowd without, she stood upright and
immovable in the middle of the yard, like one on watch. The hood,
which she had dropped from her head when she thought her eyes and
smile might be of use to her in the furtherance of her plans, had
been drawn over it again, so that she looked more like a statue in
grey than a living, breathing woman. Yet there was menace in her
attitude and a purpose in the solitary stand she took in that
circle of board-girded grass, which caused a thrill in the breasts
of those who looked at her from that chamber of death.

"A mysterious young woman," muttered the minister.