face had worn that perplexed look ever since he had heard the awful news. He seemed unable to understand, or even to grasp the facts so clearly visible before him.

But Miss Morton was more disturbed than anyone else. She looked at Hunt, and an expression of fear came into her eyes. She fidgeted about, she felt in her pocket, she changed her seat twice, and she repeatedly asked Doctor Hills if he thought Doctor Leonard would arrive soon.

Doctor Leonard did not live in Mapleton, but motored over from his home in a nearby village. He was a stranger to all those awaiting him in the Van Norman house, with the exception of Doctor Hills. Unlike that pleasant-mannered young man, Doctor Leonard was middle-aged, of a crusty disposition and curt speech.

When he came, Doctor Hills presented him to the ladies, and before he had time to introduce the two men, Doctor Leonard said crossly, “Put the women out. I cannot conduct this affair with petticoats and hysterics around me.”

Though not meant to reach the ears of the ladies, the speech was fairly audible, and with a trace of indignation Miss Morton arose and left the room. Mrs. Markham followed her, and Cicely went also.

Doctor Leonard closed the library doors, and, turning to Doctor Hills, asked for a concise statement of what had happened.

In his straightforward manner Doctor Hills gave him a brief outline of the case, including all the necessary details. “And yet,” he concluded, “even in the face of that written message, I cannot think it a suicide.”

“Of course it’s a suicide,” declared Doctor Leonard in his blustering way; “there is no question whatever. That written confession which you all declare to be in her handwriting is ample proof that the girl killed herself. Of course you had to send for me—the stupid old laws of New Jersey make it imperative that I shall be dragged out many miles away from my home for every death that isn’t in conventional death-bed fashion; but there is no suspicion of foul play here. The poor girl chose to kill herself, and she has done so with the means which she found near at hand. I will write the burial certificate and leave it with you. There is no occasion for the coroner.”

“Thank God for that!” exclaimed Schuyler Carleton, in a fervent tone. “Amen,” said Tom. “It’s dreadful enough to think of poor Maddy as she is, but had it been anyone else who——”

Unheeding the 

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