Miss Lloyd—­for I knew at a glance the black-robed young woman must be she—­was of a striking personality.  Tall, large, handsome, she could have posed as a model for Judith, Zenobia, or any of the great and powerful feminine characters in history.  I was impressed not so much by her beauty as by her effect of power and ability.  I had absolutely no reason, save Parmalee’s babblings, to suspect this woman of crime, but I could not rid myself of a conviction that she had every appearance of being capable of it.

Yet her face was full of contradictions.  The dark eyes were haughty, even imperious; but the red, curved mouth had a tender expression, and the chin, though firm and decided-looking, yet gave an impression of gentleness.

On the whole, she fascinated me by the very mystery of her charm, and I found my eyes involuntarily returning again and again to that beautiful face.

She was dressed in a black, trailing gown of material which I think is called China crepe.  It fell around her in soft waving folds and lay in little billows on the floor.  Her dark hair was dressed high on her head, and seemed to form a sort of crown which well suited her regal type.  She held her head high, and the uplift of her chin seemed to be a natural characteristic.

Good birth and breeding spoke in every phase of her personality, and in her every movement and gesture.  I remembered Parmalee’s hint of unworthy ancestors, and cast it aside as impossible of belief.  She spoke seldom, but occasionally turned to the lady at her side with a few murmured words that were indubitably those of comfort or encouragement.

Her companion, a gray-haired, elderly lady, was, of course, Mrs. Pierce.  She was trembling with the excitement of the occasion, and seemed to depend on Florence Lloyd’s strong personality and affectionate sympathy to keep her from utter collapse.

Mrs. Pierce was of the old school of gentlewomen.  Her quiet, black gown with its crepe trimmings, gave, even to my masculine eye an effect of correct and fashionable, yet quiet and unostentatious mourning garb.

She had what seemed to me a puzzling face.  It did not suggest strength of character, for the soft old cheeks and quivering lips indicated no strong self-control, and yet from her sharp, dark eyes she now and again darted glances that were unmistakably those of a keen and positive personality.

I concluded that hers was a strong nature, but shaken to its foundation by the present tragedy.  There was, without doubt, a great affection existing between her and Miss Lloyd, and yet I felt that they were not in each other’s complete confidence.

Though, for that matter, I felt intuitively that few people possessed the complete confidence of Florence Lloyd.  Surely she was a wonderful creature, and as I again allowed myself to gaze on her beautiful face I was equally convinced of the possibility of her committing a crime and the improbability of her doing so.