“I will know the worst,” said Margie, hoarsely, and they went on together.

It was so singular, but no one had thought to look within the graveyard enclosure; perhaps if they had thought of it, they judged it impossible that a murderer should select such a locality for the commission of his crime.

Mr. Darby opened the gate, entered the yard, and stopped.  So did the others.  All saw at once that the search was ended.  Across the path leading to the graves of Mr. and Mrs. Harrison, lay Paul Linmere.  He was white and ghastly; his forehead bare, and his sightless eyes wide open, looking up to the sun of noon-day.  His right hand lay on his breast, his left still tightly grasped the turf upon which it had fixed its hold in the cruel death-agony.  His garments were stiff with his own blood, and the dirk knife, still buried to the hilt in his heart, told the story of his death.

Leo crouched a little way off, his eyes jubilant, his tail beating the ground, evincing the greatest satisfaction.  All present knew that the dog rejoiced at the death of his master.

Alexandrine took a step toward the dead man, her back to the horror-stricken group by the gate.  She stopped suddenly, and lifted something from the ground.

Darby, alert and watchful, was by her side in a moment.

“What have you there?” he demanded.

“My glove which I dropped,” she answered, quietly, holding up the dainty bit of embroidered kid.

The detective turned away satisfied; but Margie saw the girl’s hand shake, and her lips grow pale as marble, the moment Darby’s keen eye was removed from her face.

The discovery of the remains was followed by a long and tedious investigation.  There was an inquest, and a rigid examination of every person who could by any possibility be imagined capable of throwing any light on the murder, and after all was over, the mystery was just as dark as it was at first.

Nothing was found to furnish the slightest clue to the assassin, except a white cambric handkerchief just inside the graveyard, marked with the single initial “A” in one corner.  This handkerchief might have belonged to the murderer, and it might have belonged to Mr. Linmere,—­that could not be determined.  The article was given into the keeping of Mr. Darby; and after three days lying in state at Harrison Park, the body of Mr. Linmere was taken to Albany, where his relatives were buried, and laid away for its last sleep.

Mr. Trevlyn offered a large reward for the apprehension of the murderer, or for information which would lead to his apprehension; and the town authorities offered an equal sum.  Mr. Darby was retained to work upon the case, and there it rested.

Margie uttered no word in the matter.  She was stunned by the suddenness of the blow, and she could not help being painfully conscious that she felt relieved by the death of this unfortunate man.  God had taken her case into his hands in a manner too solemnly fearful for her to question.