Frederick paled. Something in these words had caused him a great
shock. Mr. Sutherland was fond enough to believe that it was the
news of this extraordinary woman's death. But his son's words, as
soon as lie could find any, showed that his mind was running on
Amabel, whom he perhaps had found it difficult to connect even in
the remotest way with crime.

"She at this place of death? How could that be? Who would take a
young girl there?"

The father, experiencing, perhaps, more compassion for this soon-
to-be-disillusioned lover than he thought it incumbent upon him to
show, answered shortly, but without any compromise of the unhappy
truth:

"She went; she was not taken. No one, not even myself, could keep
her back after she had heard that a murder had been committed in
the town. She even intruded into the house; and when ordered out
of the room of death took up her stand in the yard in front, where
she remained until she had the opportunity of pointing out to us a
stain of blood on the grass, which might otherwise have escaped
our attention."

"Impossible!" Frederick's eye was staring; he looked like a man
struck dumb by surprise or fear. "Amabel do this? You are mocking
me, sir, or I may be dreaming, which may the good God grant."

His father, who had not looked for so much emotion, eyed his son
in surprise, which rapidly changed to alarm as the young man
faltered and fell back against the wall.