"Yesterday."

"Where?"

This time the answer was not forthcoming. Was it because he knew the
place too well? I dared not lift my eyes to see.

"Was it in the mill-stream?" she asked.

This time he uttered a hollow "No." Then, as if he felt himself too
weak to submit to this cross-questioning, he pushed back his chair,
and, hurriedly rising, said:

"It is a very shocking affair, Agnes. Mr. Barrows was found in a vat
in the cellar of the old mill. He drowned _himself._ No one
knows his motive."

"Drowned _himself?_" Did she speak or I? I saw her lips move,
and I heard the words uttered as I thought in her voice; but it was
to me he directed his look, and to me he seemed to reply:

"Yes; how else account for the circumstances? Is he a man to have
enemies?--or is that a place a man would be likely to seek for
pleasure?"

"But--" the trembling little woman at my side began.

"I say it is a suicide," he broke in, imperiously, giving his sister
one look, and then settling his eyes back again upon my face. "No
other explanation fits the case, and no other explanation will ever