say no woman was more beloved, or held in higher esteem. Yet he
could not control his only son, as everyone within ten miles of
the hill well knew.

At this moment his face showed both pain and shock.

"What name are you shouting out there?" he brokenly demanded.
"Agatha Webb? Is Agatha Webb hurt?"

"Yes, sir; killed," repeated a half-dozen voices at once. "We've
just come from the house. All the town is up. Some say her husband
did it."

"No, no!" was Mr. Sutherland's decisive though half-inaudible
response. "Philemon Webb might end his own life, but not Agatha's.
It was the money--"

Here he caught himself up, and, raising his voice, addressed the
crowd of villagers more directly.

"Wait," said he, "and I will go back with you. Where is
Frederick?" he demanded of such members of his own household as
stood about him.

No one knew.

"I wish some one would find my son. I want him to go into town
with me."

"He's over in the woods there," volunteered a voice from without.