" and stiff in the lonely night, Stiff and stark in the dawning light,
 
There it lies
With unseeing eyes,
 
And face of a bloodless white.
 
 
"Who hath this man by and fraud
Bears on his brow, deep-seared and broad,
 
The blood-red stain
Which is mark of Cain,
 
Unseen by man but by God."
 
 
The red light of dawn burned in the eastern skies, the first faint thrill of life ran through the earth as the twitter of birds was heard in the green woods, then the glorious sun sent his beams over the chill lands, bathing everything in golden splendour. Thornstream Hall faced to the east, and the great of sunlight breaking through morning clouds, downward like the finger of God on to the terrace--to the open window of Sir Rupert's study, and there in the splendour of sunrise lay a dead man.
 
Face downward he lay, with half of his body in the room, the other half on the terrace, and the hands stretched out in the form of a cross, in the agony of death.
 
Last night--this morning--nay, but a few hours back, and this was a living, breathing man, full of all the passions, sins, and of humanity; now an empty shell, a soulless husk, was all that remained of Sir Rupert Pethram.
 
Then the servants began to move about the house attending to their morning duties, and one--it was the housemaid--entered the study to put it in order. There she saw the dead man, and with a terrible cry fell senseless to the ground. Her cry brought in her fellow-servants, there were expressions of incredulous wonder, of horror, and then a general of voices.
 
In a few minutes all the household knew the terrible truth that Sir Rupert had been found dead in his study, shot through the head, and Dombrain came to the scene of the tragedy with horror on his face, followed by Kaituna and Mrs. Belswin.
 
"For God's sake don't let Miss Pethram see it," said Dombrain to the butler, "nor Mrs. Belswin. It is not a sight for women."
 
But it was too late; they were both in the room, and Kaituna with a cry of horror fell on her knees beside the dead body of her father, while Mrs. Belswin stood looking down at the with an impassive expression on her strongly-marked features.
 
The servants had left the room in order to send for the police, and only three persons were left with the dead man--Kaituna, convulsed with grief, kneeling by the body, and Mrs. Belswin beside Dombrain, both silently looking--at the dead man? No. At the weeping daughter? No. At one another? Yes.
 
The questioning look of Dombrain said--
 
"You were the dead man's enemy. Is this your work?"
 
Mrs. Belswin's eyes replied .
 
"I was, and am still, the dead man's enemy. I defy you to prove that this is my work."
 
They eyed one another for a few moments, and then the man's eyes before the fierce daring of the woman's.
 
There was silence in the room broken only by the of Kaituna.
 
"Come away, my dear," said Mrs. Belswin, bending down with a gesture. "Come to your room; we can do no good here."
 
"Oh!" cried Kaituna, rising slowly from her knees; "who has done this? My poor father! My poor father! Who has murdered him?"
 
Again a flash of suspicion between Dombrain and Mrs. Belswin.
 
"We do not know dear," said the latter, ; "but Mr. Dombrain has sent for the police. Perhaps they will find out the truth."
 
"They must! they must!" cried the girl, in an agony of grief. "Oh, it is terrible. To have come back for this. To be killed under his own roof by an enemy. Oh, why does God permits such things?"
 
"God permits many things," said Mrs. Belswin, bitterly, putting her arm round the shrinking form of her daughter. "Come away, dear. All that can be done will be done. The English police are clever, and may perhaps capture the murderer."
 
Dombrain smiled, and Mrs. Belswin noticed the smile.
 
"Perhaps the murderer may escape," he said with emphasis, giving a stealthy glance at Mrs. Belswin's coldly impassive face.
 
"He may escape man; but he will not escape God," cried Kaituna, . "Oh, come away, Mrs. Belswin, come away. I shall die if I stay here."
 
"You will of course do everything that is necessary, Mr. Dombrain," said the chaperon, as she led the weeping girl to the door.
 
"Of course," he replied, . "I will arrange everything."
 
Mrs. Belswin looked at him steadily, and then left the room with the heart-broken daughter, while Dombrain, left alone beside the corpse, drew a long breath.
 
"What nerve," he said, under his breath; "what nerve."
 
The police came, took possession of the house, brought down detectives from London, questioned every one, held an inquest, and--discovered nothing. Well; it was a difficult case. The police are not infallible; therefore they failed to discover the murderer of Sir Rupert Pethram. If it had been a low London murder case, for instance, of the Whitechapel sort, then, indeed, the criminal would not have escaped human justice; but in this affair it was impossible to move in any direction. Justice promised to do what she could, and did nothing. That bandage over her eyes is often in the way, and in this instance blinded her altogether; so who............