The water looked cool and inviting, and for several minutes the beautiful girl stood there, gazing steadily down into those depths.  Should she make a leap and end it all?

“It would be the easiest way out of it!” she moaned to herself.  “The easiest way, and nobody would care!”

But, as she bent lower, she seemed to see reflected, not her own face, but the face of Raymond.  With a cry of despair, she shrank back as if struck a blow.

“No! no!  It will not do!” she moaned.  “Not that!  Not that!”

She ran along the river bank until she came to where a rowboat was tied up.  On the seats were the oars, and, scarcely knowing what she was doing, she leaped into the craft, untied the painter, and took up the oars.

The fresh air seemed to give her strength, and she pulled on and on.  She grew thirsty and stopped to drink some of the water and to bathe her face and hands.  While doing this, her hat slipped overboard and drifted away, but she did not notice this.

Presently she took up the oars once more, and rowed along the stream until she reached a spot where there was an island.  Here she went ashore, hiding the rowboat in the bushes.

It was only a small island, but in the center some boys had erected a hut where they had once camped out.  Margaret dragged herself to this shelter.  Her strength was almost gone now, and, as she dropped on a rude bench, her senses forsook her.

She did not remain unconscious long, but during that time she had a dream or vision.  She imagined that she was back home once more, and that her father and her stepmother were alive and well, and that the bitter quarrelling had come to an end.  She sat up and brushed the tumbled hair from her forehead,

“It—­it must have been a dream!” she murmured.  “It can’t be true—­that daddy is dead!  I—­I must go home and find out!”

She was surprised to find herself on the island, but the sight of the rowboat brought with it a memory of how she had used the craft, and once again she got in and rowed away.

This time she headed for the Langmore mansion, and it was not long before she came within sight of the well-known dock where her own tiny craft still rested.  She looked around.  Not a soul seemed to be in sight.

With a cunningness far out of the ordinary, the poor girl crept along the shrubbery in the direction of the barn.  This structure was locked up.  From the barn she turned to the house, and, watching her chance, she entered by the cellar-way, which chanced to be standing open.

It was dark and damp below stairs, and the girl shivered as she stood there, trying to make up her mind what to do next.  Should she go right up and try to find her father?  Supposing her stepmother was there, would she try to make more trouble?

Margaret mounted the stairs and entered the lower hall of the house.  The blinds were closed, and all was dark.  She moved towards the room where the body of her father had been found.