always that way, miss--so strict and particular. He said he'd
forbidden you to say a word to anybody about that confounded
country; and you must do as you were told. He seemed to have a
grudge against Australia, though it was there he made his money. And
he always would have his own way, your father would."

While she spoke, I looked hard at the white head in the photograph.
Even as I did so, a thought occurred to me that had never occurred
before. Both in my mental Picture, and in looking at the photograph
when I saw it first, the feeling that was uppermost in my mind was
not sorrow, but horror. I didn't think with affection and regret and
a deep sense of bereavement about my father's murder. The emotional
accompaniment that had stamped itself upon the very fibre of my
soul, was not pain but awe. I think my main feeling was a feeling
that a foul crime had taken place in the house, not a feeling that I
had lost a very dear and near relative. Rightly or wrongly, I drew
from this the inference, which Jane's gossip confirmed, that I had
probably rather feared than loved my father.

It was strange to be reduced to such indirect evidence on such a
point as that; but it was all I could get, and I had to be content
with it.

Jane, leaning over my shoulder, looked hard at the photograph too. I
could see her eyes were fixed on the back of the man who was seen
disappearing through the open window. He was dressed like a
gentleman, in knickerbockers and jacket, as far as one could judge;
for the evening light rather blurred that part of the picture. One
hand was just waved, palm open, behind him. Jane regarded it hard.
Then she gave an odd little start: