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We had remained in the little parlor but a few minutes, after the departure
of Mrs. Waters, when she re-entered followed by her daughter. This young
woman whose hopes and happiness had been so suddenly blighted, possessed a
graceful person, and features of no ordinary attraction. She was attired in
deep mourning; but her sweet pale face mourned the loss she had experienced
without aid of external weeds. She appeared calm and resigned when she entered
the room; but I saw her eyes fill with tears as they turned towards the
bird, which, on seeing his mistress enter, saluted her with a chorus of joyous
song.

I was presented to her by her mother, to whom my friend, the stable-keeper,
had previously named me.

`I am happy to see you, sir,' she said, with an effort at composure; `I have
heard him speak of you!' She could not utter his name.

`I knew George,' I answered, `and seldom has any event so deeply impressed
me as this which has fallen so heavily upon you!'

I have learned to think and to speak of it now, sir, with some degree of composure.
At first I thought I should never hold up my head or look upon the
cheerful sun again!'

`Time is a sure medicine to the afflicted heart,' said Mrs. Waters. `But,
though we may be resigned, we can never forget.'

`We have called,' said the stable keeper, `to ask your permission to take the
carriage and horses on a drive into the country for two or three hours. This
gentleman has suggested a plan which with them may, perhaps, throw some
light upon the darkness which envelopes George's death.'

He then explained to her the precise object we had in view. Miss Waters
listened with folded hands, and an eager tearful face.

Take them, sir. I am very grateful to you for the interest you manifest. It
would greatly relieve me to clear up this dreadful mystery. Perhaps something
may come of this effort!'

`It is a faint hope. But nothing should be left untried that promises to afford
any clue to the perpetrators of this deed. Have you,' I added, fixing my
eyes upon her countenance to read there the reply, before she would utter it,
`have you, Miss Waters, any suspicion of any one?'

'No, sir, of no one,' she answered with such ingenuousness and freedom from
hesitation, that it nearly convinced me that she had no other lover besides

[figure description] Page 018.[end figure description]

George; that the murder could not have been the deen of a rival. It was necessary,
however, to be certain. I therefore with as much delicacy as I could,
said,

`We have thought, Miss Waters, that some motive of revenge might have
prompted the assassin. Is there any person whom George supplanted in your
affections. In a word he had no rival?'

`None, sir, that I am aware of,' she answered without that embarrassment
which she would have shown, had the affirmative been the case.

`No, I am sure there is no one,' said her mother. `George and Eliza have
known each other ever since she was a child, and I am sure she never gave encouragement
to any one!'

`Did the young men ever visit her?' asked the stable keeper.

`None.'

`Then we are again lost in a wilderness of conjecture,' I said. `There seems
no hope but in the instinct of the horses, who we hope may take the same route
and stop at any place or places George may have stopped at. By this means
we may obtain further traces of the affair!'

As we rose to depart, I asked Miss Waters about George's condition of mind
the evening he last passed in her society; if he was dull and inclined to despondency.

`At times he was so; but when he saw I noticed it, he would laugh it off und
become more than usually gay!'

`I noticed the same thing,' said Mrs Waters. `Once he acted so differently
from usual, that I feared he was a little flighty; and you remember, Eliza, that
I asked him if he was quite well! He seemed feverish to me.'

`Did he let fall any words of foreboding, Miss Waters?'

`No, sir. He left me with great cheerfulness, saying as he parted,

`This, Betsy, is the last time we shall be compelled to part from each other.
To-morrow we are united forever! It was, indeed, our last parting! There was,
sir, something upon his mind, and has been for a long time; this I feel sure of
I have often seen him sit thoughtful and with a troubled look; and when I
would ask him what was the matter he would chase off the cloud, and langh
and say, `It is nothing.' Something has certainly hung upon his mind a long
time. I have always felt that he kept a secret from me.

I now recollect that on my asking him a few days ago what he was thinking
about that made him forget I was nigh, he said, `You shall know Betsey, after
we are married. I have been keeping a diary lately and then you shall read
it.' He smiled and also seemed sad when he gave me this reply.'

`And this Diary!' I asked with deep interest. `It may perhaps explain all!
From what you have said I am satisfied his violent death has had a connection
in some shape with the weight that was upon his mind. He was then fearing
evil from some hostile hand? Have you this diary?'

`I have not yet looked over a trunk containing his books and papers which
was sent here,' she answered; `I will try and get courage to do so, and see if
it is in it. If I find it I will with pleasure let you read it. It may possibly give
some key to all this fearful affair! If you will call again, sir, this evening, I
will let you know if the Diary of which he spoke is among his papers.'

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We then took our leave. In less than half an hour afterwards I was crossing
Cambridge with the same horses and in the same carriage which had returned
to town at dawn a fortnight previous, bearing upon the box the dead
body of the young hackney-coachman. After we had crossed the bridge, the
stable-keeper, who was on the box, let the horses advance at an easy trot,
giving them their heads. They proceeded on steadily and of themselves turned
off from the Cambridge pike into the Harvard Road. They kept on this
way about two miles when they suddenly stopped at a part of the road near a
group of willows. There was no dwelling near in sight save a shanty which
had been occupied by men engaged in constructing a dike. The horses stopped
directly opposite a pair of bars which led into a field, at the end of which was
a wood, and beyond it the chimney of a dwelling just visible.

`There is something in this,' said Foster, the stable-keeper, addressing me as
I was looking out of the window. `They wouldn't stop here for nothing.—
They have had the reins ever since we left the bridge, a matter of five miles
and they came upon this lonely road and stopped short here of their own accord.
'

`There is a house in the distance across the field!'

`I see the chimney top.'

`I think I see the marks of wheels close by the bars, as if a vehicle had passed
through. Let us follow this out. Take down the bars. If the horses go
through, we shall know they have been through before!'

`I will make the trial,' said Foster, leaping from the box and removing the
bars. Before he had taken away the last one the horses turned together towards
the opening; and standing aside he let them walk through. After replacing
the upper bar he remounted the box, and we plainly saw the faint traces of carriage
wheels on the sward. The road seemed to be used only for hauling the
harvest out of the field, and was now overgrown. Yet there was plainly a
road there. The horses went on at an easy trot and entered a wood, where the
marks of wheels were more numerous. Instead of turning into a side lane
that led towards the house they kept on through the forest and at length emerged
into a field. This they crossed at the same steady pace to its extremity
where they were stopped by another pair of bars.

`Shall we proceed?' asked Foster.

`Yes. I am confident the horses have been this road before.'

They went of themselves through the open fence and turned short to the left,
and soon struck into a well beaten wagon lane. This they pursued until, to
our surprise, we found ourselves on the great Cambridge thoroughfare leading
to Roxbury. We had thus made a cut across the country from one road into
the other. How should the horses have known this way unless they had travelled
it before. Our hopes were sanguine that we should yet, by aid of the
horses, learn something of the matter we were investigating. At the end of
the lane from which we had emerged and on the corner of the main road stood
a small beer shanty. At this Foster drew up and asked if they recollected a
carriage passing up that lane in the night a fortnight previous.

`Yes,' answered the man; `I was kept up with the toothache that night and

[figure description] Page 020.[end figure description]

saw the carriage and noticed it, because it isn't usual for anything else but hay
wagons to travel across this way.'

`Which way did it turn?' I asked.

`To the left and then took the lane farther on to the right!'

`Did they make any inquiries of you?'

`No. They seemed to know the way well.'

Thanking the man for the information, we proceeded, the horses taking the
left hadn up the road as he had said the carriage he had seen had done. We
watched with intense anxiety to see if they would turn to the right up the lane
he had mentioned. They did so, and we were confirmed in our conviction that
the horses were taking us the very road George had last driven them!

`But what could have been the object of the persons he carried in taking
these solitary and unfrequented roads at that hour of the night? What, indeed,
could have been their object in coming into the country at such a time? And
if George had really, as it seemed he had, any premonitions of evil about to befal
himself, why should he have consented to drive strangers through such desolate
paths at midnight? These were questions we could not answer.

The lane up which the horses voluntarily turned was boarded on each side
with pine trees and was close and darkly shaded. We followed it half a mile,
when it divided into three, the middle one of which the horses took. It was
less worn than the others. It penetrated deep into the wood, winding, and often,
by overhanging branches, obstructin the free passage of the carriage. We
emerged after a half of a mile by the side of a pond of considerable extent.—
Its shores were wooded and several small inlets studded its dark blue bosom.—
On the opposite side there was a hansome country house, with gardens sloping
to the water. One or two farm cots were on the shore half hid in elms with
tall poplars rising before the door—the traveller's sign of welcome.[1]

The horses following the beach a little ways came to a full stop at the water
side. We were now at a loss! There was no further trace of the road.

`They must have left the carriage here. Perhaps taken a boat and crossed
the pond! This is all very mysterious, the more so as we proceed,' said Foster.

`Let us examine the woods. It is my opinion that George has been drawn
into the power of a band of criminals and that he came to his death by their
hands. If this be the case, their haunts are in this vicinity. Let us search this
wood. There seems to be a path going from the shore up to that mound we see
among the trees!

`Are you armed?'

`No'

`I have only this loaded whip and a stout knife. But I fear nothing! Let us
follow this path. But it is my opinion that they took boat here!'

`Such is my conjecture. It seems like a boat landing. The islands in the
lake are more likely to be the resort of villains. This is a haunt for counterfeiters
and such rognes. How far is this from the city?'

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`About seven or eight miles—perhaps more! I never was here before and
didn't know of such a pond. But there are plenty such spots of water about
here!'

We now followed what seemed to be a sheep-path up the bank, through a
clump of birch trees, to the summit of a conical hill, on which grew two large
oaks. Erom this eminence we obtained a far off view of the scarcely distinguishable
dome of the State house, and around us was a finely wooded and cultivated
country, covered with villas and intersected with roads.

We examined the hill sides and every place likely to be chosen as a retreat
for criminals, but without success. Fortunate it was for us, perhaps, that we
did not light upon any! We returned to our carriage and deliberated what to
do. Our opinion was that if they left the carriage here it must have been to
take boat. There was one island of the group wild and rocky, and which we
selected as the most likely retreat for outlaws; for we had now both come to
the decision that George had been the victim of lawless men, who having employed
him to drive them to the country, had assassinated him to prevent the
discovery of any secret that he might have obtained the knowledge of.

`They must have returned again from this place, Foster,' said I, `and we
will do best to let the horses take their head again. In the meanwhile I will
take note of this place for the benefit of the Police.'

He mounted the box again and I seated myself by his side. The horses were
started with a loose rein. They turned round and retraced the road we had
come for about a mile, when they turned short to the right hand and after going
through a lane struck into the turnpike. They then proceeded at a round
trot towards Roxbury, from which we were about seven miles distant. Just as
we entered this town they suddenly stopped at a low Inn on the road-side. To
our surprise it was closed, it being about one o'clock at noon. On inquiring of
a person near he said that the man who kept it had moved away the week before,
and that it had not yet been re-tenanted.

We were satisfied that George must have stopped here, and the sudden departure
of the person who then kept the tavern led us to suspect that this man
was concerned in the murder. He had probably gone off for fear of detection,
the search by the Police being pursued with unusual alacrity and perseverance.

We resumed our route and passing through Roxbury were just entering the
avenue leading over the neck into Boston when the horses all at once began to
prick up their ears and show signs of alarm. One of them pranced in his harness
and the other snorted and seemed as if he would break away from the
traces.

`There is something in this,' said Foster, in a low under tone.

As we approached a low house that seemed like a tap, or drinking room, they
became more alarmed and absolutely refused to pass it. They stopped and
reared and tried to turn back; but Foster urged them forward. They snuffled
the air and seemed greatly terrified. All at once, as if in extreme terror, they
darted by and flew along the avenue like the wind. They ran full half the way
into Boston before we could rein them in. At length they were subdued into
a trot, but were covered with sweat and foam.'

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`There is something at the bottom of this, sir,' said Foster. `They are not
used to acting so.'

`My opinion is,' I replied, `that the occupants of that house had something
to do with George's assassination. This is the way he came into town! I think
he must have been stabbed here, and the horses witnesses of the struggle, and
terrified by the smell of blood, have again had their fears renewed by the sight
of the place. I can account for their conduct in no other way.'

`And I believe you are right, sir. I think the evidence is strong enough to
bring the matter to the ears of the Police.'

`Let us delay until I have examined the Diary which George left behind
him. That may throw some light upon the circumstances preceding the murder,
by which we may be guided to the perpetrators of it.'

That evening I called on Miss Waters, and received from her a manuseriptbook
labelled `Diary.'

`I have not read it, sir. The sight of his hand-writing is too much for me.
If you will be so kind as to read it, it is at your service. I hope it will lead to
some discovery.'

This Diary we shall present to our readers in the subsequent chapters, we
being at liberty to do with it as we please.

eaf172.n1

[1] It is said that in the French settlements in Canada, as well as in Louisiana, a poplar is
planted before the door of houses in newly settled regions, to point out to the distant way-farer
that a habitation is near. Its height, and being a foreign tree, shows afar off that
civilized man is there!

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