agitated.

“It is Martin—”

is

“But where can he have come from, and why come back here?”

For a moment her mother could not answer, being too shaken by this quivering recognition of one who she felt held the key to her husband’s tragic death. It was Martin who had moved with threatening domination through the nightmare of her dreams for the last two years. Now the threat was alive again. It had returned with him. Then she heard Jean. The color had fled from the girl’s cheeks, but her eyes were alight with some thrilling instinct.

“What does it mean, mother?”

“I do not know, child. Come away now, please; I must get home.”

Jean held back. Something more was stirring in her soul than Martin’s return. He had come back to strangers who probably knew nothing of him. If they did, he could not be at Beech Lodge. And Perkins was there, too, and Perkins knew all. It followed, then, that the woman had not spoken. Was it all in preparation for another tragedy? At this thought she felt frightened and choked. Some one must speak—before speech was too late. She glanced again at the motionless figure. Martin was staring, too, and he also had recognized. He touched his cap, and at the curve of that arm she nearly cried out.

“Mother,” she whispered again, “we must tell them.”

“Tell them what, Jean? Come along. I can’t stand this.”

The girl held her ground. “We must tell the Derricks about Martin. Don’t you see it would be utterly unfair, and perhaps cowardly, if we didn’t? They’ve taken the place and, being strangers, can have known very little about it. They have probably heard about father’s death through Perkins, but perhaps not. The agent would naturally say nothing about it, and I don’t suppose the Thursbys would advertise the truth. Perkins has evidently said nothing about Martin, or the Derricks would not have engaged him. We know all, and the suspicions as to Martin, and we simply cannot be silent. Oh, we must tell them, and now!”

“If you feel so strongly I’ll write to-night,” protested her mother faintly, “but, Jean, I cannot go in now. I could not walk past that man.”

The girl was unmoved. “That won’t do, mother. There are too many things one can’t put on paper. One of us must speak.”

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