A slight, youthful, and eminently attractive female figure, walking swiftly in the opposite direction, came in sight at the same time, and Grant almost groaned aloud when the newcomer stood stock still and looked at the mournful procession.

He, be it remembered, was somewhat of an idealist and a poet; it grieved his spirit that those two women, the quick and the dead, should meet on the bridge.

He took it as a portent, almost a menace, he knew not of what.

He might have foreseen that unhappy eventuality, and prevented it, but his brain refused to work clearly that morning.

A terrible and bizarre crime had bemused his faculties.