The Mystery Of An Old Murder Read Free

running at her side, and she was talking gaily to them, but on seeing Marjorie she sent them back, and came on alone with a quickened step.
    "Marjorie, you have some news—you have a letter from the boys!" she exclaimed, as she drew near to speak.
    "Aunt Nell, you are a witch! Yes, there is a letter from Ned; such a long letter, mother has not read it yet. But there is more news. We have visitors—visitors who came in a post-chaise with yellow wheels. Guess who? From St. Mawan!"
    A quiver went over Miss Lane's delicate features. Her eyes met Marjorie's in a swift, startled glance the girl could not understand.
    "From St. Mawan!" she faltered.
    "Did I say from St. Mawan? The post-chaise came from Plymouth; but the visitors belong to St. Mawan—at least two of them do. The third is a fine young lady from London, who despises poor country folk. Oh, Aunt Nell, how puzzled you look! Think of a very fierce-looking old gentleman, with a very red face and very white hair, and gold-rimmed spectacles. Can't you guess now ? And his wife is a dear old motherly body. I fell in love with her at first sight. And when she smiles she puckers up her eyebrows like this."
    "Oh, Marjorie, you mimic; of course I guess now," laughed Miss Lane. "It is Mr. and Mrs. Bulteel. But you said his hair was white. Is it white? It used to be raven black when I knew him;" and she ended her laughing speech with a sigh Marjorie did not catch.
    "It is white now. He must have looked fiercer still when his hair was black. But he has kind eyes. I am not very much afraid of him."
    "He is one of the kindest men in the world," declared Miss Lane warmly. "It is only at first people are afraid of him. They soon find out how good he is, and some of them take advantage of it. He would have been a much richer man if he had not been so good-natured."
    "He has a bank, hasn't he?" asked Marjorie. "I have heard father speaking of it—Bulteel's Bank."
    Miss Lane looked at her with a smile.
    "Bulteel's Bank is one of the institutions of St. Mawan, Marjorie. The family have been bankers there for nearly two hundred years. I really believe the people think its notes safer than the Bank of England's."
    "Dear me, no wonder he looks so fierce and authoritative! I shall begin to be afraid of him again. But, Aunt Nell, just think, he knew me in a moment. How was that, I wonder? He had never set eyes on me before. They were pulled up at the crossroads, and the post-boy was trying to read that poor old finger-post, while Mr. Bulteel waved his stick and shouted at him. It was a mercy I came up to them. They would be there now, I believe. And when he turned round and saw me, he called out in an instant, 'You are Marjorie Drew. Don't tell me you are not, for I won't believe you.'"
    She said it, drawing down her eyebrows and thrusting out her lower lip exactly as Mr. Bulteel had done. From childhood Marjorie had had wonderful powers of observation and mimicry. But for her generous, healthy impulses, the gift of mimicry might have been a dangerous one, but she had never been known to use it unkindly. And her father had often said that he would rather trust to Marjorie's judgment of a person than to that of many older people.
    "Marjorie, how do you do it?" laughed her aunt. "You could only have seen him for a moment. You have wonderful eyes, dear child."
    Marjorie softly shook the arm she held. "But how did Mr. Bulteel know me, Aunt Nell? He had never seen me before. How did he know me?"
    Marjorie asked the question in a tone of gleeful triumph. And it was her tone and the merry glance which accompanied it that interpreted her meaning to Miss Lane. She shook her head with a smile that was more than half sad.
    "I was only a year or two older than you are now, Marjorie, when Mr. Bulteel saw me last. He would not say we were alike now, dear. He will find it hard to remember me."
    "Aunt Nell, you shall not talk like that, as if you were an old woman! If you have altered, it is only to be