Her state of mind would have seemed altogether discreditable to her grandmother. Some foul murder has been committed. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. She hadn't meant to ask anything for herself. " "What's that?" asked Wood with some curiosity. "What have you got there in your breast—a stone? Is there blood or water in your veins?" The dam broke, but not with violence.
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