"Good night, Kate," he said, quietly. "Thank you for your promise."
My heart sank. I returned his kiss coldly. He left me without another word.
Three days after that memorable conversation with my father a fly drove up to the door, and from where I was sitting in our little drawing room I heard a woman's anxious voice inquiring for Mr. Ffolliot. A moment or two later the maid knocked at my door.
"There is a young lady here, miss, inquiring for the Vicar. I told her that Mr. Ffolliot would not be in for an hour or two, and she asked if she could speak to any other member of the family."
"Do you know what she wants, Mary?" I asked.
"No, miss. She would not say what her business was. She just wants to see one of you, she said."
"You had better tell her that I am at home, and show her in here if she wishes to see me," I directed.
She ushered in a young lady, short, dark, and thin. Her eyes were swollen as though with weeping, and her whole appearance seemed to indicate that she was in trouble. She sank into the chair to which I motioned her, and burst into tears.
"You must please forgive me," she exclaimed, in a voice broken with sobs. "I have just come from abroad, and I have had a terrible shock."
Some instinct seemed to tell me the truth.
"Are you any relation of the gentleman who was--who died here last week?" I asked, quickly.
"I have just been to the police station," she said. "It is his watch--the one I gave him--and his pocket book, with a half-written letter to me in it. They have shown me his photograph. It is my brother, Stephen Berdenstein. He was the only relative I had left in the world."
I was really shocked, and I looked at her pitifully. "I am so sorry," I said. "It must be terrible for you."
She commenced to sob again, and I feared she would have hysterics. She was evidently very nervous, and very much overwrought. I was never particularly good at administering consolation, and I could think of nothing better to do than to ring the bell and order some tea.
"He was to have joined me in Paris on Saturday," she continued after a minute or two. "He did not come and he sent a message. When Monday morning came and there was no letter from him, I felt sure that something had happened. I bought the English papers, and by chance I read about the murder. It seemed absurd to connect it with Stephen, especially as he told me he was going to be in London, but the description was so like him that I could not rest. I telegraphed to his bankers, and they replied that he had gone down into the country, but had left no address. So I crossed at once, and when I found that he had not been heard of at his club in London or anywhere else for more than ten days, I came down here. I went straight to the police station, and--and----"
