This opinion was not altogether a mistaken one.  Lucia went immediately to Bella and told her simply that Doctor Hardy was much concerned about Mrs. Clarkson, and that she herself was going to Beaver Creek to see what could best be done for the poor woman and her family.  A quiver passed over Mrs. Morton’s face.  She could not yet quite free herself from the impulse of revenge which would have held her back from help and pity; she had the natural feeling which Mrs. Costello had half unconsciously imputed to her, that she ought to be the last to console the widow and children of the murderer; such feelings, however had but a momentary power over her; the idea which was most at home in her mind and took root to the extinction of the others, was just the simple womanly one that there was somebody in deep trouble whom she could help.  She said shortly and without any exclamations or questions, “I will go with you; Elise wants Bob to take your mamma home, and it will take us too long to walk, so I will send down to Lane’s at once for a sleigh.  Tell Mrs. Costello, Lucia, and then get ready.”

There was nothing for anybody to say against Bella’s going.  She had always been decided and independent in her doings, and since her widowhood nobody thought of advising or persuading her.  Mrs. Bellairs looked grave when she heard of this expedition, and took an opportunity of begging Lucia, to try to prevent any exciting scene, and to insist upon coming home again immediately; but even she said nothing to her sister.

The two sleighs came to the door at the same time, and as Mrs. Costello and Mrs. Bellairs drove off towards the cottage, Bella and Lucia started in the opposite direction.  They had not much to say to each other on the way; and both, as they passed the fatal spot where the murder had been committed affected to be occupied with their own thoughts, that they might neither meet each other’s eyes nor seem to remember where they were.  They soon began to pass along the white and scarcely-trodden track which ran beside the creek.  All was silent and desolate.  The water, almost black by contrast with the snow, washed against the bank with a dull monotonous sound just audible; the fishing-hut had been transformed into a great heap of snow, and the branches, heavily laden, hung quite motionless under the cold grey sky.  Not a sign of life appeared till they came in sight of the log-house and the light curl of smoke from its chimney.  Neither had seen the place before—­to Lucia, indeed, it had possessed no interest till the events of the last month or two, and she looked out with the sort of shuddering curiosity which is naturally excited by the place where we know a great crime to have been hidden in the daily life of the inhabitants.  But Bella remembered many small incidents connected with this fatal property of hers—­and if a wish could have brought those dark sullen waters to cover the whole farm and hide it out of sight and memory, they would have risen that moment.  Yet, after all, the unchangeable fact of her suffering and sorrow was no reason for others suffering; she put aside for the present all the pangs of personal feeling, and prepared to go into the house with a face and manner fit for her mission.