kitchen of the farmhouse. 

 Young Griffith was lying dead before the hearth, before a dead fire of white wood ashes. They went on towards the “parlor,” and in the doorway of the room was the body of the artist, Secretan, as if he had fallen in trying to get to the kitchen. Upstairs the two women, Mrs. Griffith and her daughter, a girl of eighteen, were lying together on the bed in the big bedroom, clasped in each others’ arms. 

 They went about the house, searched the pantries, the back kitchen and the cellars; there was no life in it. 

 “Look!” said Dr. Lewis, when they came back to the big kitchen, “look! It is as if they had been besieged. Do you see that piece of bacon, half gnawed through?” 

 Then they found these pieces of bacon, cut from the sides on the kitchen wall, here and there about the house. There was no bread in the place, no milk, no water. 

 “And,” said one of the farmers, “they had the best water here in all Meirion. The well is down there in the wood; it is most famous water. The old people did use to call it Ffynnon Teilo; it was Saint Teilo’s Well, they did say.” 

 “They must have died of thirst,” said Lewis. “They have been dead for days and days.” 

 The group of men stood in the big kitchen and stared at one another, a dreadful perplexity in their eyes. The dead were all about them, within the house and without it; and it was in vain to ask why they had died thus. The old man had been killed with the piercing thrust of some sharp weapon; the rest had perished, it seemed probable, of thirst; but what possible enemy was this that besieged the farm and shut in its inhabitants? There was no answer. 

 The sergeant of police spoke of getting a cart and taking the bodies into Porth, and Dr. Lewis went into the parlor that Secretan had used as a sitting-room, intending to gather any possessions or effects of the dead artist that he might find there. Half a dozen portfolios were piled up in one corner, there were some books on a side table, a fishing-rod and basket behind the door—that seemed all. No doubt there would be clothes and such matters upstairs, and Lewis was about to rejoin the rest of the party in the kitchen, when he looked down at some scattered papers lying with the books on the side table. On one of the sheets he read to his astonishment the words: “Dr. James Lewis, Porth.” This was written in a staggering trembling scrawl, and examining the 

 Prev. P 61/81 next