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Updated: June 14, 2025


"Of course you don't mean that charming Miss Thurwell?" he said quickly. The limits of Mr. Brown's endurance seemed to have been passed. He turned suddenly round, his eyes blazing with passion, and walked across the room to within a few feet of Sir Allan. He stood there with one hand grasping the back of a chair, and looked at him. "And if I did mean her, sir, what is that to you?

Under those circumstances a certain amount of suspicion naturally attached itself to the prisoner, and a search warrant was duly applied for, and duly carried out. At that time nothing suspicious was discovered, owing in some measure, he was bound to say, to the scrupulous delicacy with which the magistrate who had signed it looking toward Mr. Thurwell had insisted upon its being carried out.

There was unconscious hauteur in his manner of meeting this awful charge, in his tone, and in the perfect calm of his demeanor, which was more powerful than any vehement protestations could have been. Mr. Thurwell had long had his doubts, and very uneasy doubts, concerning this matter, but at that moment he felt ashamed of them.

Helen, too, had risen, with a look of horror in her white face, and her eyes fastened upon her lover. Mr. Thurwell looked from one to the other, not comprehending the situation. The whole scene, the glittering table laden with flowers and wine, the wondering servant, the attitude and faces of the four people, and the dark figures outside, would have made a marvelous tableau.

The little hand gate leading out of the plantation was opened and shut, and light footsteps began to ascend the ridge of the cliffs on which he was standing, hesitating now and then, but always advancing. As soon as he became sure of this, he turned his head in the direction from which they came, and found himself face to face with Helen Thurwell.

Afterwards when they recalled that scene and there was no one there who ever forgot it they could scarcely tell which seemed the most terrible part to them the lifeless body of the murdered man with the terrible writing of death in his white face, or the tragic figure of Helen Thurwell, the squire's cold, graceful daughter, with her placid features and whole being suddenly transformed with this wave of passion.

"Because one afternoon last week I saw him come out of Falcon's Nest. It was the afternoon he went botanizing." Mr. Thurwell shook his head. "The detective mentioned the date of his visit and search," he said. "It was a month ago." She wrung her hands, and turned away in despair. "It must have been through those dreadful people I went to," she sobbed. "Oh, I was mad mad!"

She would have filled her place in society admirably, and there would have been nothing to distinguish her either for better or worse from other women in a similar position. But it happened that round Thurwell Court the people were singularly uninteresting. The girls were dull, and the men bucolic. Before she had spent two years in the country, Helen was intensely bored.

Helen Thurwell especially, in her white holland gown, with a great bunch of heather stuck in her belt, and a faint healthy glow in her cheeks, looked as only an English country girl of good birth can look the very personification of dainty freshness. "There go the guns again!" she exclaimed. "Listen to the echoes. They can't be far away now." There was a little murmur of satisfaction.

He had just finished a long account of his adventures, and was by no means inclined to quit the subject. "Altogether, dad," he was saying, "it's about the prettiest piece of business we ever struck. But one thing is very certain. We must get some more tin from Miss Thurwell. Why, I've been at it five months now, and the expenses at some of those foreign hotels were positively awful.

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