"Because I have seen her writing, and studied her signature, and, ably

as she has disguised her hand in the rest of the letter, it betrays

itself in her name. See here." And Hickory took from his pocket-book a

small slip of paper containing her autograph, and submitted it to the

test of comparison.

The similarity between the two signatures was evident, and both Mr. Byrd

and Mr. Ferris were obliged to allow the detective might be right,

though the admission opened up suggestions of the most formidable

character.

"It is a turn for which I am not prepared," declared the District

Attorney.

"It is a turn for which _we_ are not prepared," repeated Mr. Byrd, with

a controlling look at Hickory.

"Let us, then, defer further consideration of the matter till I have had

an opportunity to see Miss Dare," suggested Mr. Ferris.

And the two detectives were very glad to acquiesce in this, for they

were as much astonished as he at this action of Miss Dare, though, with

their better knowledge of her feelings, they found it comparatively easy

to understand how her remorse and the great anxiety she doubtless felt

for Mr. Hildreth had sufficed to drive her to such an extreme and

desperate measure.

XX.

A CRISIS.

_Queen._ Alas, how is it with you?

That you do bend your eye on vacancy,

And with the incorporeal air do hold discourse?

* * * * *

Your bedded hair, like life in excrements,

Starts up and stands on end.

* * * * *

Whereon do you look?

_Hamlet._ On him! On him! Look you how pale he glares!

His form and cause conjoined, preaching to stones,

Would make them capable. Do not look upon me;

Lest, with this piteous action, you convert

My stern effects! then what I have to do

Will want true color; tears, perchance, for blood.--HAMLET.

THAT my readers may understand even better than Byrd and Hickory how it

was that Imogene came to write this letter, I must ask them to consider

certain incidents that had occurred in a quarter far removed from the

eye of the detectives.

Mr. Orcutt's mind had never been at rest concerning the peculiar

attitude assumed by Imogene Dare at the time of Mrs. Clemmens' murder.

Time and thought had not made it any more possible for him to believe

now than then that she knew any thing of the matter beyond what appeared

to the general eye: but he could not forget the ring. It haunted him.

Fifty times a day he asked himself what she had meant by claiming as her

own a jewel which had been picked up from the floor of a strange house

at a time so dreadful, and which, in despite of her explanations to him,

he found it impossible to believe was hers or ever could have been hers?

He was even tempted to ask her; but he never did. The words would not

come. Though they faltered again and again upon his lips, he could not

give utterance to them; no, though with every passing day he felt that

the bond uniting her to him was growing weaker and weaker, and that if

something did not soon intervene to establish confidence between them,

he would presently lose all hope of the treasure for the possession of

which he was now ready to barter away half the remaining years of his

life.

Her increasing reticence, and the almost stony look of misery that now

confronted him without let or hindrance from her wide gray eyes, were

not calculated to reassure him or make his future prospects look any

brighter. Her pain, if pain it were, or remorse, if remorse it could be,

was not of a kind to feel the influence of time; and, struck with

dismay, alarmed in spite of himself, if not for her reason at least for

his own, he watched her from day to day, feeling that now he would give

his life not merely to possess her, but to understand her and the secret

that was gnawing at her heart.

At last there came a day when he could no longer restrain himself. She

had been seated in his presence, and had been handed a letter which for

the moment seemed to thoroughly overwhelm her. We know what that letter

was. It was the note which had been sent as a decoy by the detective

Hickory, but which she had no reason to doubt was a real communication

from Craik Mansell, despite the strange handwriting on the envelope. It

prayed her for an interview. It set the time and mentioned the place of

meeting, and created for the instant such a turmoil in her usually

steady brain that she could not hide it from the searching eyes that

watched her.

"What is it, Imogene?" inquired Mr. Orcutt, drawing near her with a

gesture of such uncontrollable anxiety, it looked as if he were about to

snatch the letter from her hand.

For reply she rose, walked to the grate, in which a low wood fire was

burning, and plunged the paper in among the coals. When it was all

consumed she turned and faced Mr. Orcutt.

"You must excuse me," she murmured; "but the letter was one which I

absolutely desired no one to see."

But he did not seem to hear her apology. He stood with his gaze fixed on

the fire, and his hand clenched against his heart, as if something in

the fate of that wretched sheet of paper reminded him of the love and

hope that were shrivelling up before his eyes.

She saw his look and drooped her head with a sudden low moan of mingled

shame and suffering.

"Am I killing _you_?" she faintly cried. "Are my strange, wild ways

driving _you_ to despair? I had not thought of that. I am so selfish, I

had not thought of that!"

This evidence of feeling, the first she had ever shown him, moved Mr.

Orcutt deeply. Advancing toward her, with sudden passion, he took her by

the hand.

"Killing me?" he repeated. "Yes, you are killing me. Don't you see how

fast I am growing old? Don't you see how the dust lies thick upon the

books that used to be my solace and delight? I do not understand you,

Imogene. I love you and I do not understand your grief, or what it is

that is affecting you in this terrible way. Tell me. Let me know the

nature of the forces with which I have to contend, and I can bear all

the rest."

This appeal, forced as it was from lips unused to prayer, seemed to

strike her, absorbed though she was in her own suffering. Looking at him

with real concern, she tried to speak, but the words faltered on her

tongue. They came at last, however, and he heard her say:

"I wish I could weep, if only to show you I am not utterly devoid of

womanly sympathy for an anguish I cannot cure. But the fountain of my

tears is dried at its source. I do not think I can ever weep again. I am

condemned to tread a path of misery and despair, and must traverse it to

the end without weakness and without help. Do not ask me why, for I can

never tell you. And do not detain me now, or try to make me talk, for I

must go where I can be alone and silent."

She was slipping away, but he caught her by the wrist and drew her back.

His pain and perplexity had reached their climax.

"You must speak," he cried. "I have paltered long enough with this

matter. You must tell me what it is that is destroying your happiness

and mine."

But her eyes, turning toward him, seemed to echo that _must_ in a look

of disdain eloquent enough to scorn all help from words, and in the

indomitable determination of her whole aspect he saw that he might slay

her, but that he could never make her speak.

Loosing her with a gesture of despair, he turned away. When he glanced

back again she was gone.

The result of this interview was naturally an increased doubt and

anxiety on his part. He could not attend to his duties with any degree

of precision, he was so haunted by uneasy surmises as to what might have

been the contents of the letter which he had thus seen her destroy

before his eyes. As for her words, they were like her conduct, an

insolvable mystery, for which he had no key.

His failure to find her at home when he returned that night added to his

alarm, especially as he remembered the vivid thunderstorm that had

deluged the town in the afternoon. Nor, though she came in very soon and

offered both excuses and explanations for her absence, did he experience

any appreciable relief, or feel at all satisfied that he was not

threatened with some secret and terrible catastrophe. Indeed, the air of

vivid and feverish excitement which pervaded every look of hers from

this time, making each morning and evening distinctive in his memory as

a season of fresh fear and renewed suspense, was enough of itself to

arouse this sense of an unknown, but surely approaching, danger. He saw

she was on the look out for some event, he knew not what, and studied

the papers as sedulously as she, in the hope of coming upon some

revelation that should lay bare the secret of this new condition of

hers. At last he thought he had found it. Coming home one day from the

court, he called her into his presence, and, without pause or preamble,

exclaimed, with almost cruel abruptness:

"An event of possible interest to you has just taken place. The murderer

of Mrs. Clemmens has just cut his throat."

He saw before he had finished the first clause that he had struck at the

very citadel of her terrors and her woe. At the end of the second

sentence he knew, beyond all doubt now, what it was she had been

fearing, if not expecting. Yet she said not a word, and by no movement

betrayed that the steel had gone through and through her heart.

A demon--the maddening demon of jealousy--gripped him for the first time

with relentless force.

"Ah, you have been looking for it?" he cried in a choked voice. "You

know this man, then--knew him, perhaps, before the murder of Mrs.

Clemmens; knew him, and--and, perhaps, loved him?"

She did not reply.

He struck his forehead with his hand, as if the moment was perfectly

intolerable to him.

"Answer," he cried. "Did you know Gouverneur Hildreth or not?"

"_Gouverneur Hildreth?_" Oh, the sharp surprise, the wailing anguish of

her tone! Mr. Orcutt stood amazed. "It is not he who has made this

attempt upon his life!--not he!" she shrieked like one appalled.

Perhaps because all other expression or emotion failed him, Mr. Orcutt

broke forth into a loud and harrowing laugh. "And who else should it

be?" he cried. "What other man stands accused of having murdered Widow

Clemmens? You are mad, Imogene; you don't know what you say or what you

do."

"Yes, I am mad," she repeated--"mad!" and leaned her forehead forward on

the back of a high chair beside which she had been standing, and hid her

face and struggled with herself for a moment, while the clock went on

ticking, and the wretched surveyer of her sorrow stood looking at her

bended head like a man who does not know whether it is he or she who is

in the most danger of losing his reason.

At last a word struggled forth from between her clasped hands.

"When did it happen?" she gasped, without lifting her head. "Tell me all

about it. I think I can understand."

The noted lawyer smiled a bitter smile, and spoke for the first time,

without pity and without mercy.

"He has been trying for some days to effect his death. His arrest and

the little prospect there is of his escaping trial seem to have maddened

his gentlemanly brain. Fire-arms were not procurable, neither was poison

nor a rope, but a pewter plate is enough in the hands of a desperate

man. He broke one in two last night, and----"

He paused, sick and horror-stricken. Her face had risen upon him from

the back of the chair, and was staring upon him like that of a Medusa.

Before that gaze the flesh crept on his bones and the breath of life

refused to pass his lips. Gazing at her with rising horror, he saw her

stony lips slowly part.

"Don't go on," she whispered. "I can see it all without the help of

words." Then, in a tone that seemed to come from some far-off world of

nightmare, she painfully gasped, "Is he dead?"

[Illustration: "He paused, sick and horror-stricken. Her face had risen

upon him from the back of the chair, and was staring at him like that of

a Medusa."--(Page 252.)]

Mr. Orcutt was a man who, up to the last year, had never known what it

was to experience a real and controlling emotion. Life with him had

meant success in public affairs, and a certain social pre-eminence that

made his presence in any place the signal of admiring looks and

respectful attentions. But let no man think that, because his doom

delays, it will never come. Passions such as he had deprecated in

others, and desires such as he had believed impossible to himself, had

seized upon him with ungovernable power, and in this moment especially

he felt himself yielding to their sway with no more power of resistance

than a puppet experiences in the grasp of a whirlwind. Meeting that

terrible eye of hers, burning with an anxiety for a man he despised,

and hearing that agonized question from lips whose touch he had never

known, he experienced a sudden wild and almost demoniac temptation to

hurl back the implacable "Yes" that he felt certain would strike her

like a dead woman to the ground. But the horrid impulse passed, and,

with a quick remembrance of the claims of honor upon one bearing his

name and owning his history, he controlled himself with a giant

resolution, and merely dropping his eyes from an anguish he dared no

longer confront, answered, quietly:

"No; he has hurt himself severely and has disfigured his good looks for

life, but he will not die; or so the physicians think."

A long, deep, shuddering sigh swept through the room.

"Thank God!" came from her lips, and then all was quiet again.

He looked up in haste; he could not bear the silence.

"Imogene----" he began, but instantly paused in surprise at the change

which had taken place in her expression. "What do you intend to do?" was

his quick demand. "You look as I have never seen you look before."

"Do not ask me!" she returned. "I have no words for what I am going to

do. What _you_ must do is to see that Gouverneur Hildreth is released

from prison. He is not guilty, mind you; he never committed this crime

of which he is suspected, and in the shame of which suspicion he has

this day attempted his life. If he is kept in the restraint which is so

humiliating to him, and if he dies there, it will be murder--do you

hear? murder! And he _will_ die there if he is not released; I know his

feelings only too well."

"But, Imogene----"

"Hush! don't argue. 'Tis a matter of life and death, I tell you. He must

be released! I know," she went on, hurriedly, "what it is you want to

say. You think you cannot do this; that the evidence is all against him;

that he went to prison of his own free will and cannot hope for release

till his guilt or innocence has been properly inquired into. But I know

you can effect his enlargement if you will. You are a lawyer, and

understand all the crooks and turns by which a man can sometimes be made

to evade the grasp of justice. Use your knowledge. Avail yourself of

your influence with the authorities, and I----" she paused and gave him

a long, long look.

He was at her side in an instant.

"You would--what?" he cried, taking her hand in his and pressing it

impulsively.

"I would grant you whatever you ask," she murmured, in a weariful tone.

"Would you be my wife?" he passionately inquired.

"Yes," was the choked reply; "if I did not die first."

He caught her to his breast in rapture. He knelt at her side and threw

his arms about her waist.

"You shall not die," he cried. "You shall live and be happy. Only marry

me to-day."

"Not till Gouverneur Hildreth be released," she interposed, gently.

He started as if touched by a galvanic battery, and slowly rose up and

coldly looked at her.

"Do you love him so madly you would sell yourself for his sake?" he

sternly demanded.

With a quick gesture she threw back her head as though the indignant

"No" that sprang to her lips would flash out whether she would or not.

But she restrained herself in time.

"I cannot answer," she returned.

But he was master now--master of this dominating spirit that had held

him in check for so long a time, and he was not to be put off.

"You must answer," he sternly commanded. "I have the right to know the

extent of your feeling for this man, and I will. Do you _love_ him,

Imogene Dare? Tell me, or I here swear that I will do nothing for him,

either now or at a time when he may need my assistance more than you

know."

This threat, uttered as he uttered it, could have but one effect.

Turning aside, so that he should not see the shuddering revolt in her

eyes, she mechanically whispered:

"And what if I did? Would it be so very strange? Youth admires youth,

Mr. Orcutt, and Mr. Hildreth is very handsome and very unfortunate. Do

not oblige me to say more."

Mr. Orcutt, across whose face a dozen different emotions had flitted

during the utterance of these few words, drew back till half the

distance of the room lay between them.

"Nor do I wish to hear any more," he rejoined, slowly. "You have said

enough, quite enough. I understand now all the past--all your terrors

and all your secret doubts and unaccountable behavior. The man you loved

was in danger, and you did not know how to manage his release. Well,

well, I am sorry for you, Imogene. I wish I could help you. I love you

passionately, and would make you my wife in face of your affection for

this man if I could do for you what you request. But it is impossible.

Never during the whole course of my career has a blot rested upon my

integrity as a lawyer. I am known as an honest man, and honest will I

remain known to the last. Besides, I could do nothing to effect his

enlargement if I tried. Nothing but the plainest proof that he is

innocent, or that another man is guilty, would avail now to release him

from the suspicion which his own admissions have aroused."

"Then there is no hope?" was her slow and despairing reply.

"None at present, Imogene," was his stern, almost as despairing, answer.

As Mr. Orcutt sat over his lonely hearth that evening, a servant brought

to him the following letter:

DEAR FRIEND,--It is not fit that I should remain

any longer under your roof. I have a duty before

me which separates me forever from the friendship

and protection of honorable men and women. No home

but such as I can provide for myself by the work

of my own hands shall henceforth shelter the

disgraced head of Imogene Dare. Her fate, whatever

it may prove to be, she bears alone, and you, who

have been so kind, shall never suffer from any

association with one whose name must henceforth

become the sport of the crowd, if not the

execration of the virtuous. If your generous heart

rebels at this, choke it relentlessly down. I

shall be already gone when you read these lines,

and nothing you could do or say would make me come

back. Good-by, and may Heaven grant you

forgetfulness of one whose only return to your

benefactions has been to make you suffer almost as

much as she suffers herself.

As Mr. Orcutt read these last lines, District Attorney Ferris was

unsealing the anonymous missive which has already been laid before my

readers.

XXI.

HEART'S MARTYRDOM.

Oh that a man might know

The end of this day's business, ere it come;

But it sufficeth that the day will end,

And then the end is known!--JULIUS CAESAR.

MR. FERRIS' first impulse upon dismissing the detectives had been to

carry the note he had received to Mr. Orcutt. But a night's careful

consideration of the subject convinced him that the wisest course would

be to follow the suggestions conveyed in the letter, and seek a direct

interview with Imogene Dare.

It was not an agreeable task for him to undertake. Miss Dare was a young

lady whom he had always held in the highest esteem. He had hoped to see

her the wife of his friend, and would have given much from his own

private stock of hope and happiness to have kept her name free from the

contumely which any association with this dreadful crime must

necessarily bring upon it. But his position as prosecuting attorney of

the county would not allow him to consult his feelings any further in a

case of such serious import. The condition of Mr. Hildreth was, to say

the least, such as demanded the most impartial action on the part of the

public officials, and if through any explanation of Miss Dare the one

missing link in the chain of evidence against another could be

supplied, it was certainly his duty to do all he could to insure it.

Accordingly at a favorable hour the next day, he made his appearance at

Mr. Orcutt's house, and learning that Miss Dare had gone to Professor

Darling's house for a few days, followed her to her new home and

requested an interview.

She at once responded to his call. Little did he think as she came into

the parlor where he sat, and with even more than her usual calm

self-possession glided down the length of that elegant apartment to his

side, that she had just come from a small room on the top floor, where,

in the position of a hired seamstress, she had been engaged in cutting

out the wedding garments of one of the daughters of the house.

Her greeting was that of a person attempting to feign a surprise she did

not feel.

"Ah," said she, "Mr. Ferris! This is an unexpected pleasure."

But Mr. Ferris had no heart for courtesies.

"Miss Dare," he began, without any of the preliminaries which might be

expected of him, "I have come upon a disagreeable errand. I have a favor

to ask. You are in the possession of a piece of information which it is

highly necessary for me to share."

"I?"

The surprise betrayed in this single word was no more than was to be

expected from a lady thus addressed, neither did the face she turned so

steadily toward him alter under his searching gaze.

"If I can tell you any thing that you wish to know," she quietly

declared, "I am certainly ready to do so, sir."

Deceived by the steadiness of her tone and the straightforward look of

her eyes, he proceeded, with a sudden releasement from his

embarrassment, to say:

"I shall have to recall to your mind a most painful incident. You

remember, on the morning when we met at Mrs. Clemmens' house, claiming

as your own a diamond ring which was picked up from the floor at your

feet?"

"I do."

"Miss Dare, was this ring really yours, or were you misled by its

appearance into merely thinking it your property? My excuse for asking

this is that the ring, if not yours, is likely to become an important

factor in the case to which the murder of this unfortunate woman has

led."

"Sir----" The pause which followed the utterance of this one word was

but momentary, but in it what faint and final hope may have gone down

into the depths of everlasting darkness God only knows. "Sir, since you

ask me the question, I will say that in one sense of the term it was

mine, and in another it was not. The ring was mine, because it had been

offered to me as a gift the day before. The ring was not mine, because I

had refused to take it when it was offered."

At these words, spoken with such quietness they seemed like the

mechanical utterances of a woman in a trance, Mr. Ferris started to his

feet. He could no longer doubt that evidence of an important nature lay

before him.

"And may I ask," he inquired, without any idea of the martyrdom he

caused, "what was the name of the person who offered you this ring, and

from whom you refused to take it?"

"The name?" She quavered for a moment, and her eyes flashed up toward

heaven with a look of wild appeal, as if the requirement of this moment

was more than even she had strength to meet. Then a certain terrible

calm settled upon her, blotting the last hint of feeling from her face,

and, rising up in her turn, she met Mr. Ferris' inquiring eye, and

slowly and distinctly replied:

"It was Craik Mansell, sir. He is a nephew of Mrs. Clemmens."

It was the name Mr. Ferris had come there to hear, yet it gave him a

slight shock when it fell from her lips--perhaps because his mind was

still running upon her supposed relations with Mr. Orcutt. But he did

not show his feelings, however, and calmly asked:

"And was Mr. Mansell in this town the day before the assault upon his

aunt?"

"He was."

"And you had a conversation with him?"

"I had."

"May I ask where?"

For the first time she flushed; womanly shame had not yet vanished

entirely from her stricken breast; but she responded as steadily as

before:

"In the woods, sir, back of Mrs. Clemmens' house. There were

reasons"--she paused--"there were good reasons, which I do not feel

obliged to state, why a meeting in such a place was not discreditable to

us."

Mr. Ferris, who had received from other sources a full version of the

interview to which she thus alluded, experienced a sudden revulsion of

feeling against one he could not but consider as a detected coquette;

and, drawing quickly back, made a gesture such as was not often

witnessed in those elegant apartments.

"You mean," said he, with a sharp edge to his tone that passed over her

dreary soul unheeded, "that you were lovers?"

"I mean," said she, like the automaton she surely was at that moment,

"that he had paid me honorable addresses, and that I had no reason to

doubt his motives or my own in seeking such a meeting."

"Miss Dare,"--all the District Attorney spoke in the manner of Mr.

Ferris now,--"if you refused Mr. Mansell his ring, you must have

returned it to him?"

She looked at him with an anguish that bespoke her full appreciation of

all this question implied, but unequivocally bowed her head.

"It was in his possession, then," he continued, "when you left him on

that day and returned to your home?"

"Yes," her lips seemed to say, though no distinct utterance came from

them.

"And you did not see it again till you found it on the floor of Mrs.

Clemmens' dining-room the morning of the murder?"

"No."

"Miss Dare," said he, with greater mildness, after a short pause, "you

have answered my somewhat painful inquiries with a straightforwardness I

cannot sufficiently commend. If you will now add to my gratitude by

telling me whether you have informed any one else of the important facts

you have just given me, I will distress you by no further questions."

"Sir," said she, and her attitude showed that she could endure but

little more, "I have taken no one else into my confidence. Such

knowledge as I had to impart was not matter for idle gossip."

And Mr. Ferris, being thus assured that his own surmises and that of

Hickory were correct, bowed with the respect her pale face and rigid

attitude seemed to demand, and considerately left the house.

XXII.

CRAIK MANSELL.

Bring me unto my trial when you will.--HENRY VI.

"HE is here."

Mr. Ferris threw aside his cigar, and looked up at Mr. Byrd, who was

standing before him.

"You had no difficulty, then?"

"No, sir. He acted like a man in hourly expectation of some such

summons. At the very first intimation of your desire to see him in

Sibley, he rose from his desk, with what I thought was a meaning look at

Mr. Goodman, and after a few preparations for departure, signified he

was ready to take the next train."

"And did he ask no questions?"

"Only one. He wished to know if I were a detective. And when I responded

'Yes,' observed with an inquiring look: 'I am wanted as a witness, I

suppose.' A suggestion to which I was careful to make no reply."

Mr. Ferris pushed aside his writing and glanced toward the door. "Show

him in, Mr. Byrd," said he.

A moment after Mr. Mansell entered the room.

The District Attorney had never seen this man, and was struck at once by

the force and manliness of his appearance. Half-rising from his seat to

greet the visitor, he said:

"I have to beg your pardon, Mr. Mansell. Feeling it quite necessary to

see you, I took the liberty of requesting you to take this journey, my

own time being fully occupied at present."

Mr. Mansell bowed--a slow, self-possessed bow,--and advancing to the

table before which the District Attorney sat, laid his hand firmly upon

it and said:

"No apologies are needed." Then shortly, "What is it you want of me?"

The words were almost the same as those which had been used by Mr.

Hildreth under similar circumstances, but how different was their

effect! The one was the utterance of a weak man driven to bay, the other

of a strong one. Mr. Ferris, who was by no means of an impressible

organization, flashed a look of somewhat uneasy doubt at Mr. Byrd, and

hesitated slightly before proceeding.

"We have sent for you in this friendly way," he remarked, at last, "in

order to give you that opportunity for explaining certain matters

connected with your aunt's sudden death which your well-known character

and good position seem to warrant. We think you can do this. At all

events I have accorded myself the privilege of so supposing; and any

words you may have to say will meet with all due consideration. As Mrs.

Clemmens' nephew, you, of course, desire to see her murderer brought to

justice."

The slightly rising inflection given to the last few words made them to

all intents and purposes a question, and Mr. Byrd, who stood near by,

waited anxiously for the decided Yes which seemed the only possible

reply under the circumstances, but it did not come.

Surprised, and possibly anxious, the District Attorney repeated himself.

"As her nephew," said he, "and the inheritor of the few savings she has

left behind her, you can have but one wish on this subject, Mr.

Mansell?"

But this attempt succeeded no better than the first. Beyond a slight

compression of the lips, Mr. Mansell gave no manifestation of having

heard this remark, and both Mr. Ferris and the detective found

themselves forced to wonder at the rigid honesty of a man who, whatever

death-giving blow he may have dealt, would not allow himself to escape

the prejudice of his accusers by assenting to a supposition he and they

knew to be false.

Mr. Ferris did not press the question.

"Mr. Mansell," he remarked instead, "a person by the name of Gouverneur

Hildreth is, as you must know, under arrest at this time, charged with

the crime of having given the blow that led to your aunt's death. The

evidence against him is strong, and the public generally have no doubt

that his arrest will lead to trial, if not to conviction. But,

unfortunately for us, however fortunately for him, another person has

lately been found, against whom an equal show of evidence can be raised,

and it is for the purpose of satisfying ourselves that it is but a

show, we have requested your presence here to-day."

A spasm, vivid as it was instantaneous, distorted for a moment the

powerful features of Craik Mansell at the words, "another person," but

it was gone before the sentence was completed; and when Mr. Ferris

ceased, he looked up with the steady calmness which made his bearing so

remarkable.

"I am waiting to hear the name of this freshly suspected person," he

observed.

"Cannot you imagine?" asked the District Attorney, coldly, secretly

disconcerted under a gaze that held his own with such steady

persistence.

The eyeballs of the other flashed like coals of fire.

"I think it is my right to hear it spoken," he returned.

This display of feeling restored Mr. Ferris to himself.

"In a moment, sir," said he. "Meanwhile, have you any objections to

answering a few questions I would like to put to you?"

"I will hear them," was the steady reply.

"You know," said the District Attorney, "you are at perfect liberty to

answer or not, as you see fit. I have no desire to entrap you into any

acknowledgments you may hereafter regret."

"Speak," was the sole response he received.

"Well, sir," said Mr. Ferris, "are you willing to tell me where you were

when you first heard of the assault which had been made upon your aunt?"

"I was in my place at the mill."

"And--pardon me if I go too far--were you also there the morning she was

murdered?"

"No, sir."

"Mr. Mansell, if you could tell us where you were at that time, it would

be of great benefit to us, and possibly to yourself."

"To myself?"

Having shown his surprise, or, possibly, his alarm, by the repetition of

the other's words, Craik Mansell paused and looked slowly around the

room until he encountered Mr. Byrd's eye. There was a steady compassion

in the look he met there that seemed to strike him with great force, for

he at once replied that he was away from home, and stopped--his glance

still fixed upon Mr. Byrd, as if, by the very power of his gaze, he

would force the secrets of that detective's soul to the surface.

"Mr. Mansell," pursued the District Attorney, "a distinct avowal on your

part of the place where you were at that time, would be best for us

both, I am sure."

"Do you not already know?" inquired the other, his eye still upon Horace

Byrd.

"We have reason to think you were in this town," averred Mr. Ferris,

with an emphasis calculated to recall the attention of his visitor to

himself.

"And may I ask," Craik Mansell quietly said, "what reason you can have

for such a supposition? No one could have seen me here, for, till to-day

I have not entered the streets of this place since my visit to my aunt

three months ago."

"It was not necessary to enter the streets of this town to effect a

visit to Mrs. Clemmens' house, Mr. Mansell."

"No?"

There was the faintest hint of emotion in the intonation he gave to that

one word, but it vanished before he spoke his next sentence.

"And how," asked he, "can a person pass from Sibley Station to the door

of my aunt's house without going through the streets?"

Instead of replying, Mr. Ferris inquired:

"Did you get out at Sibley Station, Mr. Mansell?"

But the other, with unmoved self-possession, returned:

"I have not said so."

"Mr. Mansell," the District Attorney now observed, "we have no motive in

deceiving or even in misleading you. You were in this town on the

morning of your aunt's murder, and you were even in her house. Evidence

which you cannot dispute proves this, and the question that now arises,

and of whose importance we leave you to judge, is whether you were there

prior to the visit of Mr. Hildreth, or after. Any proof you may have to

show that it was before will receive its due consideration."

A change, decided as it was involuntary, took place in the hitherto

undisturbed countenance of Craik Mansell. Leaning forward, he surveyed

Mr. Ferris with great earnestness.

"I asked that man," said he, pointing with a steady forefinger at the

somewhat abashed detective, "if I were not wanted here simply as a

witness, and he did not say No. Now, sir," he continued, turning back

with a slight gesture of disdain to the District Attorney, "was the man

right in allowing me to believe such a fact, or was he not? I would like

an answer to my question before I proceed further, if you please."

"You shall have it, Mr. Mansell. If this man did not answer you, it was

probably because he did not feel justified in so doing. He knew I had

summoned you here in the hope of receiving such explanations of your

late conduct as should satisfy me you had nothing to do with your aunt's

murder. The claims upon my consideration, which are held by certain

persons allied to you in this matter"--Mr. Ferris' look was eloquent of

his real meaning here--"are my sole justification for this somewhat

unusual method of dealing with a suspected man."

A smile, bitter, oh, how bitter in its irony! traversed the firm-set

lips of Craik Mansell for a moment, then he bowed with a show of

deference to the District Attorney, and settling into the attitude of a

man willing to plead his own cause, responded:

"It would be more just, perhaps, if I first heard the reasons you have

for suspecting me, before I attempt to advance arguments to prove the

injustice of your suspicions."

"Well," said Mr. Ferris, "you shall have them. If frankness on my part

can do aught to avert the terrible scandal which your arrest and its

consequent developments would cause, I am willing to sacrifice thus much

to my friendship for Mr. Orcutt. But if I do this, I shall expect an

equal frankness in return. The matter is too serious for subterfuge."

The other merely waved his hand.

"The reasons," proceeded Mr. Ferris, "for considering you a party as

much open to suspicion as Mr. Hildreth, are several. First, we have

evidence to prove your great desire for a sum of money equal to your

aunt's savings, in order to introduce an invention which you have just

patented.

"Secondly, we can show that you left your home in Buffalo the day before

the assault, came to Monteith, the next town to this, alighted at the

remote station assigned to the use of the quarrymen, crossed the hills

and threaded the woods till you came to a small hut back of your aunt's

house, where you put up for the night.

"Thirdly, evidence is not lacking to prove that while there you visited

your aunt's once, if not twice; the last time on the very morning she

was killed, entering the house in a surreptitious way by the back door,

and leaving it in the same suspicious manner.

"And fourthly, we can prove that you escaped from this place as you had

come, secretly, and through a difficult and roundabout path over the

hills.

"Mr. Mansell, these facts, taken with your reticence concerning a visit

so manifestly of importance to the authorities to know, must strike

even you as offering grounds for a suspicion as grave as that attaching

to Mr. Hildreth."

With a restraint marked as it was impressive, Mr. Mansell looked at the

District Attorney for a moment, and then said:

"You speak of proof. Now, what proof have you to give that I put up, as

you call it, for a night, or even for an hour, in the hut which stands

in the woods back of my aunt's house?"

"This," was Mr. Ferris' reply. "It is known you were in the woods the

afternoon previous to the assault upon your aunt, because you were seen

there in company with a young lady with whom you were holding a tryst.

Did you speak, sir?"

"No!" was the violent, almost disdainful, rejoinder.

"You did not sleep at your aunt's, for her rooms contained not an

evidence of having been opened for a guest, while the hut revealed more

than one trace of having been used as a dormitory. I could even tell you

where you cut the twigs of hemlock that served you for a pillow, and

point to the place where you sat when you scribbled over the margin of

the Buffalo _Courier_ with a blue pencil, such as that I now see

projecting from your vest pocket."

"It is not necessary," replied the young man, heavily frowning. Then

with another short glance at Mr. Ferris, he again demanded:

"What is your reason for stating I visited my aunt's house on the

morning she was murdered? Did any one see me do it? or does the house,

like the hut, exhibit traces of my presence there at that particular

time?"

There was irony in his tone, and a disdain almost amounting to scorn in

his wide-flashing blue eyes; but Mr. Ferris, glancing at the hand

clutched about the railing of the desk, remarked quietly:

"You do not wear the diamond ring you carried away with you from the

tryst I mentioned? Can it be that the one which was picked up after the

assault, on the floor of Mrs. Clemmens' dining-room, could have fallen

from your finger, Mr. Mansell?"

A start, the first this powerfully repressed man had given, showed that

his armor of resistance had been pierced at last.

"How do you know," he quickly asked, "that I carried away a diamond ring

from the tryst you speak of?"

"Circumstances," returned the District Attorney, "prove it beyond a

doubt. Miss Dare----"

"Miss Dare!"

Oh, the indescribable tone of this exclamation! Mr. Byrd shuddered as he

heard it, and looked at Mr. Mansell with a new feeling, for which he had

no name.

"Miss Dare," repeated the District Attorney, without, apparently,

regarding the interruption, "acknowledges she returned you the ring

which you endeavored at that interview to bestow upon her."

"Ah!" The word came after a moment's pause. "I see the case has been

well worked up, and it only remains for me to give you such explanations

as I choose to make. Sir," declared he, stepping forward, and bringing

his clenched hand down upon the desk at which Mr. Ferris was sitting, "I

did not kill my aunt. I admit that I paid her a visit. I admit that I

stayed in the woods back of her house, and even slept in the hut, as you

have said; but that was on the day previous to her murder, and not after

it. I went to see her for the purpose of again urging the claims of my

invention upon her. I went secretly, and by the roundabout way you

describe, because I had another purpose in visiting Sibley, which made

it expedient for me to conceal my presence in the town. I failed in my

efforts to enlist the sympathies of my aunt in regard to my plans, and I

failed also in compassing that other desire of my heart of which the

ring you mention was a token. Both failures unnerved me, and I lay in

that hut all night. I even lay there most of the next morning; but I did

not see my aunt again, and I did not lift my hand against her life."

There was indescribable quiet in the tone, but there was indescribable

power also, and the look he levelled upon the District Attorney was

unwaveringly solemn and hard.

"You deny, then, that you entered the widow's house on the morning of

the murder?"

"I do."

"It is, then, a question of veracity between you and Miss Dare?"

Silence.

"She asserts she gave you back the ring you offered her. If this is so,

and that ring was in your possession after you left her on Monday

evening, how came it to be in the widow's dining-room the next morning,

if you did not carry it there?"

"I can only repeat my words," rejoined Mr. Mansell.

The District Attorney replied impatiently. For various reasons he did

not wish to believe this man guilty.

"You do not seem very anxious to assist me in my endeavors to reach the

truth," he observed. "Cannot you tell me what you did with the ring

after you left Miss Dare? Whether you put it on your finger, or thrust

it into your pocket, or tossed it into the marsh? If you did not carry

it to the house, some one else must have done so, and you ought to be

able to help us in determining who."

But Mr. Mansell shortly responded:

"I have nothing to say about the ring. From the moment Miss Dare

returned it to me, as you say, it was, so far as I am concerned, a thing

forgotten. I do not know as I should ever have thought of it again, if

you had not mentioned it to me to-day. How it vanished from my

possession only to reappear upon the scene of murder, some more clever

conjurer than myself must explain."

"And this is all you have to say, Mr. Mansell?"

"This is all I have to say."

"Byrd," suggested the District Attorney, after a long pause, during

which the subject of his suspicions had stood before him as rigid and

inscrutable as a statue in bronze, "Mr. Mansell would probably like to

go to the hotel, unless, indeed, he desires to return immediately to

Buffalo."

Craik Mansell at once started forward.

"Do you intend to allow me to return to Buffalo?" he asked.

"Yes," was the District Attorney's reply.

"You are a good man," broke involuntarily from the other's lips, and he

impulsively reached out his hand, but as quickly drew it back with a

flush of pride that greatly became him.

"I do not say," quoth Mr. Ferris, "that I exempt you from surveillance.

As prosecuting attorney of this district, my duty is to seek out and

discover the man who murdered Mrs. Clemmens, and your explanations have

not been as full or as satisfactory as I could wish."

"Your men will always find me at my desk in the mill," said Mr. Mansell,

coldly. And, with another short bow, he left the attorney's side and

went quickly out.

"That man is innocent," declared Mr. Ferris, as Horace Byrd leaned above

him in expectation of instructions to keep watch over the departing

visitor.

"The way in which he held out his hand to me spoke volumes."

The detective cast a sad glance at Craik Mansell's retreating figure.

"You could not convince Hickory of that fact," said he.

XXIII.

MR. ORCUTT.

What is it she does now?--MACBETH.

My resolution's plac'd, and I have nothing

Of woman in me. Now, from head to foot

I am marble--constant.--ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

THESE words rang in the ears of Mr. Ferris. For he felt himself

disturbed by them. Hickory did not believe Mr. Mansell innocent.

At last he sent for that detective.

"Hickory," he asked, "why do you think Mansell, rather than Hildreth,

committed this crime?"

Now this query, on the part of the District Attorney, put Hickory into a

quandary. He wished to keep his promise to Horace Byrd, and yet he

greatly desired to answer his employer's question truthfully. Without

any special sympathies of his own, he yet had an undeniable leaning

toward justice, and justice certainly demanded the indictment of

Mansell. He ended by compromising matters.

"Mr. Ferris," said he, "when you went to see Miss Dare the other day,

what did you think of her state of mind?"

"That it was a very unhappy one."

"Didn't you think more than that, sir? Didn't you think she believed Mr.

Mansell guilty of this crime?"

"Yes," admitted the other, with reluctance.

"If Miss Dare is attached to Mr. Mansell, she must feel certain of his

guilt to _offer_ testimony against him. Her belief should go for

something, sir; for much, it strikes me, when you consider what a woman

she is."

This conversation increased Mr. Ferris' uneasiness. Much as he wished to

spare the feelings of Miss Dare, and, through her, those of his friend,

Mr. Orcutt, the conviction of Mansell's criminality was slowly gaining

ground in his mind. He remembered the peculiar manner of the latter

during the interview they had held together; his quiet acceptance of the

position of a suspected man, and his marked reticence in regard to the

ring. Though the delicate nature of the interests involved might be

sufficient to explain his behavior in the latter regard, his whole

conduct could not be said to be that of a disinterested man, even if it

were not necessarily that of a guilty one. In whatever way Mr. Ferris

looked at it, he could come to but one conclusion, and that was, that

justice to Hildreth called for such official attention to the evidence

which had been collected against Mansell as should secure the indictment

of that man against whom could be brought the more convincing proof of

guilt.

Not that Mr. Ferris meant, or in anywise considered it good policy, to

have Mansell arrested at this time. As the friend of Mr. Orcutt, it was

manifestly advisable for him to present whatever evidence he possessed

against Mansell directly to the Grand Jury. For in this way he would not

only save the lawyer from the pain and humiliation of seeing the woman

he so much loved called up as a witness against the man who had

successfully rivalled him in her affections, but would run the chance,

at least, of eventually preserving from open knowledge, the various

details, if not the actual facts, which had led to this person being

suspected of crime. For the Grand Jury is a body whose business it is to

make secret inquisition into criminal offences. Its members are bound by

oath to the privacy of their deliberations. If, therefore, they should

find the proofs presented to them by the District Attorney insufficient

to authorize an indictment against Mansell, nothing of their proceedings

would transpire. While, on the contrary, if they decided that the

evidence was such as to oblige them to indict Mansell instead of

Hildreth, neither Mr. Orcutt nor Miss Dare could hold the District

Attorney accountable for the exposures that must follow.

The course, therefore, of Mr. Ferris was determined upon. All the

evidence in his possession against both parties, together with the

verdict of the coroner's jury, should go at once before the Grand Jury;

Mansell, in the meantime, being so watched that a bench-warrant issuing

upon the indictment would have him safely in custody at any moment.

But this plan for saving Mr. Orcutt's feelings did not succeed as fully

as Mr. Ferris hoped. By some means or other the rumor got abroad that

another man than Hildreth had fallen under the suspicion of the

authorities, and one day Mr. Ferris found himself stopped on the street

by the very person he had for a week been endeavoring to avoid.

"Mr. Orcutt!" he cried, "how do you do? I did not recognize you at

first."

"No?" was the sharp rejoinder. "I'm not myself nowadays. I have a bad

cold." With which impatient explanation he seized Mr. Ferris by the arm

and said: "But what is this I hear? You have your eye on another party

suspected of being Mrs. Clemmens' murderer?"

The District Attorney bowed uneasily. He had hoped to escape the

discussion of this subject with Mr. Orcutt.

The lawyer observed the embarrassment his question had caused, and

instantly turned pale, notwithstanding the hardihood which a long career

at the bar had given him.

"Ferris," he pursued, in a voice he strove hard to keep steady, "we have

always been good friends, in spite of the many tilts we have had

together before the court. Will you be kind enough to inform me if your

suspicions are founded upon evidence collected by yourself, or at the

instigation of parties professing to know more about this murder than

they have hitherto revealed?"

Mr. Ferris could not fail to understand the true nature of this

question, and out of pure friendship answered quietly:

"I have allowed myself to look with suspicion upon this Mansell--for it

is Mrs. Clemmens' nephew who is at present occupying our

attention,--because the facts which have come to light in his regard are

as criminating in their nature as those which have transpired in

reference to Mr. Hildreth. The examination into this matter, which my

duty requires, has been any thing but pleasant to me, Mr. Orcutt. The

evidence of such witnesses as will have to be summoned before the Grand

Jury, is of a character to bring open humiliation, if not secret grief,

upon persons for whom I entertain the highest esteem."

The pointed way in which this was said convinced Mr. Orcutt that his

worst fears had been realized. Turning partly away, but not losing his

hold upon the other's arm, he observed with what quietness he could:

"You say that so strangely, I feel forced to put another question to

you. If what I have to ask strikes you with any surprise, remember that

my own astonishment and perplexity at being constrained to interrogate

you in this way, are greater than any sensation you can yourself

experience. What I desire to know is this. Among the witnesses you have

collected against this last suspected party, there are some women, are

there not?"

The District Attorney gravely bowed.

"Ferris, is Miss Dare amongst them?"

"Orcutt, she is."

With a look that expressed his secret mistrust the lawyer gave way to a

sudden burst of feeling.

"Ferris," he wrathfully acknowledged, "I may be a fool, but I don't see

what she can have to say on this subject. It is impossible she should

know any thing about the murder; and, as for this Mansell----" He made a

violent gesture with his hand, as if the very idea of her having any

acquaintance with the nephew of Mrs. Clemmens were simply preposterous.

The District Attorney, who saw from this how utterly ignorant the other

was concerning Miss Dare's relations to the person named, felt his

embarrassment increase.

"Mr. Orcutt," he replied, "strange as it may appear to you, Miss Dare

_has_ testimony to give of value to the prosecution, or she would not be

reckoned among its witnesses. What that testimony is, I must leave to

her discretion to make known to you, as she doubtless will, if you

question her with sufficient consideration. I never forestall matters

myself, nor would you wish me to tell you what would more becomingly

come from her own lips. But, Mr. Orcutt, this I can say: that if it had

been given me to choose between the two alternatives of resigning my

office and of pursuing an inquiry which obliges me to submit to the

unpleasantness of a judicial investigation a person held in so much

regard by yourself, I would have given up my office with pleasure, so

keenly do I feel the embarrassment of my position and the unhappiness of

yours. But any mere resignation on my part would have availed nothing to

save Miss Dare from appearing before the Grand Jury. The evidence she

has to give in this matter makes the case against Mansell as strong as

that against Hildreth, and it would be the duty of any public prosecutor

to recognize the fact and act accordingly."

Mr. Orcutt, who had by the greatest effort succeeded in calming himself

through this harangue, flashed sarcastically at this last remark, and

surveyed Mr. Ferris with a peculiar look.

"Are you sure," he inquired in a slow, ironical tone, "that she has not

succeeded in making it stronger?"

The look, the tone, were unexpected, and greatly startled Mr. Ferris.

Drawing nearer to his friend, he returned his gaze with marked

earnestness.

"What do you mean?" he asked, with secret anxiety.

But the wary lawyer had already repented this unwise betrayal of his own

doubts. Meeting his companion's eye with a calmness that amazed himself,

he remarked, instead of answering:

"It was through Miss Dare, then, that your attention was first drawn to

Mrs. Clemmens' nephew?"

"No," disclaimed Mr. Ferris, hastily. "The detectives already had their

eyes upon him. But a hint from her went far toward determining me upon

pursuing the matter," he allowed, seeing that his friend was determined

upon hearing the truth.

"So then," observed the other, with a stern dryness that recalled his

manner at the bar, "she opened a communication with you herself?"

"Yes."

It was enough. Mr. Orcutt dropped the arm of Mr. Ferris, and, with his

usual hasty bow, turned shortly away. The revelation which he believed

himself to have received in this otherwise far from satisfactory

interview, was one that he could not afford to share--that is, not yet;

not while any hope remained that circumstances would so arrange

themselves as to make it unnecessary for him to do so. If Imogene Dare,

out of her insane desire to free Gouverneur Hildreth from the suspicion

that oppressed him, had resorted to perjury and invented evidence

tending to show the guilt of another party--and remembering her

admissions at their last interview and the language she had used in her

letter of farewell, no other conclusion offered itself,--what

alternative was left him but to wait till he had seen her before he

proceeded to an interference that would separate her from himself by a

gulf still greater than that which already existed between them? To be

sure, the jealousy which consumed him, the passionate rage that seized

his whole being when he thought of all she dared do for the man she

loved, or that he thought she loved, counselled him to nip this attempt

of hers in the bud, and by means of a word to Mr. Ferris throw such a

doubt upon her veracity as a witness against this new party as should

greatly influence the action of the former in the critical business he

had in hand. But Mr. Orcutt, while a prey to unwonted passions, had not

yet lost control of his reason, and reason told him that impulse was an

unsafe guide for him to follow at this time. Thought alone--deep and

concentrated thought--would help him out of this crisis with honor and

safety. But thought would not come at call. In all his quick walk home

but one mad sentence formulated itself in his brain, and that was: "She

loves him so, she is willing to perjure herself for his sake!" Nor,

though he entered his door with his usual bustling air and went through

all the customary observances of the hour with an appearance of no

greater abstraction and gloom than had characterized him ever since the

departure of Miss Dare, no other idea obtruded itself upon his mind than

this: "She loves him so, she is willing to perjure herself for his

sake!"

Even the sight of his books, his papers, and all that various

paraphernalia of work and study which gives character to a lawyer's

library, was insufficient to restore his mind to its usual condition of

calm thought and accurate judgment. Not till the clock struck eight and

he found himself almost without his own volition at Professor Darling's

house, did he realize all the difficulties of his position and the

almost intolerable nature of the undertaking which had been forced upon

him by the exigencies of the situation.

Miss Dare, who had refused to see him at first, came into his presence

with an expression that showed him with what reluctance she had finally

responded to his peremptory message. But in the few heavy moments he had

been obliged to wait, he had schooled himself to expect coldness if not

absolute rebuff. He therefore took no heed of the haughty air of inquiry

which she turned upon him, but came at once to the point, saying almost

before she had closed the door:

"What is this you have been doing, Imogene?"

A flush, such as glints across the face of a marble statue, visited for

a moment the still whiteness of her set features, then she replied:

"Mr. Orcutt, when I left your house I told you I had a wretched and

unhappy duty to perform, that, when once accomplished, would separate us

forever. I have done it, and the separation has come; why attempt to

bridge it?"

There was a sad weariness in her tone, a sad weariness in her face, but

he seemed to recognize neither. The demon jealousy--that hindrance to

all unselfish feeling--had gripped him again, and the words that came to

his lips were at once bitter and masterful.

"Imogene," he cried, with as much wrath in his tone as he had ever

betrayed in her presence, "you do not answer my question. I ask you what

you have been doing, and you reply, your duty. Now, what do you mean by

duty? Tell me at once and distinctly, for I will no longer be put off

by any roundabout phrases concerning a matter of such vital importance."

"Tell you?" This repetition of his words had a world of secret anguish

in it which he could not help but notice. She did not succumb to it,

however, but continued in another moment: "You said to me, in the last

conversation we held together, that Gouverneur Hildreth could not be

released from his terrible position without a distinct proof of

innocence or the advancement of such evidence against another as should

turn suspicion aside from him into a new and more justifiable quarter. I

could not, any more than he, give a distinct proof of his innocence; but

I could furnish the authorities with testimony calculated to arouse

suspicion in a fresh direction, and I did it. For Gouverneur Hildreth

had to be saved at any price--_at any price_."

The despairing emphasis she laid upon the last phrase went like hot

steel to Mr. Orcutt's heart, and made his eyes blaze with almost

uncontrollable passion.

"_Je ne vois pas la necessite_," said he, in that low, restrained tone

of bitter sarcasm which made his invective so dreaded by opposing

counsel. "If Gouverneur Hildreth finds himself in an unfortunate

position, he has only his own follies and inordinate desire for this

woman's death to thank for it. Because you love him and compassionate

him beyond all measure, that is no reason why you should perjure

yourself, and throw the burden of his shame upon a man as innocent as

Mr. Mansell."

But this tone, though it had made many a witness quail before it,

neither awed nor intimidated her.

"You--you do not understand," came from her white lips. "It is Mr.

Hildreth who is perfectly innocent, and not----" But here she paused.

"You will excuse me from saying more," she said. "You, as a lawyer,

ought to know that I should not be compelled to speak on a subject like

this except under oath."

"Imogene!" A change had passed over Mr. Orcutt. "Imogene, do you mean to

affirm that you really have charges to make against Craik Mansell; that

this evidence you propose to give is real, and not manufactured for the

purpose of leading suspicion aside from Hildreth?"

It was an insinuation against her veracity he never could have made, or

she have listened to, a few weeks before; but the shield of her pride

was broken between them, and neither he nor she seemed to give any

thought to the reproach conveyed in these words.

"What I have to say is the truth," she murmured. "I have not

manufactured any thing."

With an astonishment he took no pains to conceal, Mr. Orcutt anxiously

surveyed her. He could not believe this was so, yet how could he convict

her of falsehood in face of that suffering expression of resolve which

she wore. His methods as a lawyer came to his relief.

"Imogene," he slowly responded, "if, as you say, you are in possession

of positive evidence against this Mansell, how comes it that you

jeopardized the interests of the man you loved by so long withholding

your testimony?"

But instead of the flush of confusion which he expected, she flashed

upon him with a sudden revelation of feeling that made him involuntarily

start.

"Shall I tell you?" she replied. "You will have to know some time, and

why not now? I kept back the truth," she replied, advancing a step, but

without raising her eyes to his, "because it is not the aspersed

Hildreth that I love, but----"

Why did she pause? What was it she found so hard to speak? Mr. Orcutt's

expression became terrible.

"But the other," she murmured at last.

"The other!"

It was now her turn to start and look at him in surprise, if not in some

fear.

"What other?" he cried, seizing her by the hand. "Name him. I will have

no further misunderstanding between us."

"Is it necessary?" she asked, with bitterness. "Will Heaven spare me

nothing?" Then, as she saw no relenting in the fixed gaze that held her

own, whispered, in a hollow tone: "You have just spoken the name

yourself--Craik Mansell."

"Ah!"

Incredulity, anger, perplexity, all the emotions that were seething in

this man's troubled soul, spoke in that simple exclamation. Then silence

settled upon the room, during which she gained control over herself,

and he the semblance of it if no more. She was the first to speak.

"I know," said she, "that this avowal on my part seems almost incredible

to you; but it is no more so than that which you so readily received

from me the other day in reference to Gouverneur Hildreth. A woman who

spends a month away from home makes acquaintances which she does not

always mention when she comes back. I saw Mr. Mansell in Buffalo,

and----" turning, she confronted the lawyer with her large gray eyes, in

which a fire burned such as he had never seen there before--"and grew to

esteem him," she went on. "For the first time in my life I found myself

in the presence of a man whose nature commanded mine. His ambition, his

determination, his unconventional and forcible character woke

aspirations within me such as I had never known myself capable of

before. Life, which had stretched out before me with a somewhat

monotonous outlook, changed to a panorama of varied and wonderful

experiences, as I listened to his voice and met the glance of his eye;

and soon, before he knew it, and certainly before I realized it, words

of love passed between us, and the agony of that struggle began which

has ended---- Ah, let me not think how, or I shall go mad!"

Mr. Orcutt, who had watched her with a lover's fascination during all

this attempted explanation, shivered for a moment at this last bitter

cry of love and despair, but spoke up when he did speak, with a coldness

that verged on severity.

"So you loved another man when you came back to my home and listened to

the words of passion which came from _my_ lips, and the hopes of future

bliss and happiness that welled up from _my_ heart?"

"Yes," she whispered, "and, as you will remember, I tried to suppress

those hopes and turn a deaf ear to those words, though I had but little

prospect of marrying a man whose fortunes depended upon the success of

an invention he could persuade no one to believe in."

"Yet you brought yourself to listen to those hopes on the afternoon of

the murder," he suggested, ironically.

"Can you blame me for that?" she cried, "remembering how you pleaded,

and what a revulsion of feeling I was laboring under?"

A smile bitter as the fate which loomed before him, and scornful as the

feelings that secretly agitated his breast, parted Mr. Orcutt's pale

lips for an instant, and he seemed about to give utterance to some

passionate rejoinder, but he subdued himself with a determined effort,

and quietly waiting till his voice was under full control, remarked with

lawyer-like brevity at last:

"You have not told me what evidence you have to give against young

Mansell?"

Her answer came with equal brevity if not equal quietness.

"No; I have told Mr. Ferris; is not that enough?"

But he did not consider it so. "Ferris is a District Attorney," said he,

"and has demanded your confidence for the purposes of justice, while I

am your friend. The action you have taken is peculiar, and you may need

advice. But how can I give it or how can you receive it unless there is

a complete understanding between us?"

Struck in spite of herself, moved perhaps by a hope she had not allowed

herself to contemplate before, she looked at him long and earnestly.

"And do you really wish to help me?" she inquired. "Are you so generous

as to forgive the pain, and possibly the humiliation, I have inflicted

upon you, and lend me your assistance in case my testimony works its due

effect, and he be brought to trial instead of Mr. Hildreth?"

It was a searching and a pregnant question, for which Mr. Orcutt was

possibly not fully prepared, but his newly gained control did not give

way.

"I must insist upon hearing the facts before I say any thing of my

intentions," he averred. "Whatever they may be, they cannot be more

startling in their character than those which have been urged against

Hildreth."

"But they are," she whispered. Then with a quick look around her, she

put her mouth close to Mr. Orcutt's ear and breathed:

"Mr. Hildreth is not the only man who, unseen by the neighbors, visited

Mrs. Clemmens' house on the morning of the murder. Craik Mansell was

there also."

"Craik Mansell! How do you know that? Ah," he pursued, with the scornful

intonation of a jealous man, "I forgot that you are lovers."

The sneer, natural as it was, perhaps, seemed to go to her heart and

wake its fiercest indignation.

"Hush," cried she, towering upon him with an ominous flash of her proud

eye. "Do not turn the knife in _that_ wound or you will seal my lips

forever." And she moved hastily away from his side. But in another

instant she determinedly returned, saying: "This is no time for

indulging in one's sensibilities. I affirm that Craik Mansell visited

his aunt on that day, because the ring which was picked up on the floor

of her dining-room--you remember the ring, Mr. Orcutt?"

Remember it! Did he not? All his many perplexities in its regard crowded

upon him as he made a hurried bow of acquiescence.

"It belonged to him," she continued. "He had bought it for me, or,

rather, had had the diamond reset for me--it had been his mother's. Only

the day before, he had tried to put it on my finger in a meeting we had

in the woods back of his aunt's house. But I refused to allow him. The

prospect ahead was too dismal and unrelenting for us to betroth

ourselves, whatever our hopes or wishes might be."

"You--you had a meeting with this man in the woods the day before his

aunt was assaulted," echoed Mr. Orcutt, turning upon her with an

amazement that swallowed up his wrath.

"Yes."

"And he afterward visited her house?"

"Yes."

"And dropped that ring there?"

"Yes."

Starting slowly, as if the thoughts roused by this short statement of

facts were such as demanded instant consideration, Mr. Orcutt walked to

the other side of the room, where he paced up and down in silence for

some minutes. When he returned it was the lawyer instead of the lover

who stood before her.

"Then, it was the simple fact of finding this gentleman's ring on the

floor of Mrs. Clemmens' dining-room that makes you consider him the

murderer of his aunt?" he asked, with a tinge of something like irony in

his tone.

"No," she breathed rather than answered. "That was a proof, of course,

that he had been there, but I should never have thought of it as an

evidence of guilt if the woman herself had not uttered, in our hearing

that tell-tale exclamation of 'Ring and Hand,' and if, in the talk I

held with Mr. Mansell the day before, he had not betrayed---- Why do you

stop me?" she whispered.

"I did not stop you," he hastily assured her. "I am too anxious to hear

what you have to say. Go on, Imogene. What did this Mansell betray? I--I

ask as a father might," he added, with some dignity and no little

effort.

But her fears had taken alarm, or her caution been aroused, and she

merely said:

"The five thousand dollars which his aunt leaves him is just the amount

he desired to start him in life."

"Did he wish such an amount?" Mr. Orcutt asked.

"Very much."

"And acknowledged it in the conversation he had with you?"

"Yes."

"Imogene," declared the lawyer, "if you do not want to insure Mr.

Mansell's indictment, I would suggest to you not to lay too great stress

upon any _talk_ you may have held with him."

But she cried with unmoved sternness, and a relentless crushing down of

all emotion that was at once amazing and painful to see:

"The innocent is to be saved from the gallows, no matter what the fate

of the guilty may be."

And a short but agitated silence followed which Mr. Orcutt broke at last

by saying:

"Are these all the facts you have to give me?"

She started, cast him a quick look, bowed her head, and replied:

"Yes."

There was something in the tone of this assertion that made him repeat

his question.

"Are these _all_ the facts you have to give me?"

Her answer came ringing and emphatic now.

"Yes," she avowed--"all."

With a look of relief, slowly smoothing out the deep furrows of his

brow, Mr. Orcutt, for the second time, walked thoughtfully away in

evident consultation with his own thoughts. This time he was gone so

long, the suspense became almost intolerable to Imogene. Feeling that

she could endure it no longer, she followed him at last, and laid her

hand upon his arm.

"Speak," she impetuously cried. "Tell me what you think; what I have to

expect."

But he shook his head.

"Wait," he returned; "wait till the Grand Jury has brought in a bill of

indictment. It will, doubtless, be against one of these two men; but I

must know which, before I can say or do any thing."

"And do you think there can be any doubt about which of these two it

will be?" she inquired, with sudden emotion.

"There is always doubt," he rejoined, "about any thing or every thing a

body of men may do. This is a very remarkable case, Imogene," he

resumed, with increased sombreness; "the most remarkable one, perhaps,

that has ever come under my observation. What the Grand Jury will think

of it; upon which party, Mansell or Hildreth, the weight of their

suspicion will fall, neither I nor Ferris, nor any other man, can

prophesy with any assurance. The evidence against both is, in so far as

we know, entirely circumstantial. That you believe Mr. Mansell to be the

guilty party----"

"Believe!" she murmured; "I know it."

"That you _believe_ him to be the guilty party," the wary lawyer

pursued, as if he had not heard her "does not imply that they will

believe it too. Hildreth comes of a bad stock, and his late attempt at

suicide tells wonderfully against him; yet, the facts you have to give

in Mansell's disfavor are strong also, and Heaven only knows what the

upshot will be. However, a few weeks will determine all that, and

then----" Pausing, he looked at her, and, as he did so, the austerity

and self-command of the lawyer vanished out of sight, and the passionate

gleam of a fierce and overmastering love shone again in his eyes. "And

then," he cried, "then we will see what Tremont Orcutt can do to bring

order out of this chaos."

There was so much resolve in his look, such a hint of promise in his

tone, that she flushed with something almost akin to hope.

"Oh, generous----" she began.

But he stopped her before she could say more.

"Wait," he repeated; "wait till we see what action will be taken by the

Grand Jury." And taking her hand, he looked earnestly, if not

passionately, in her face. "Imogene," he commenced, "if I should

succeed----" But there he himself stopped short with a quick recalling

of his own words, perhaps. "No," he cried, "I will say no more till we

see which of these two men is to be brought to trial." And, pressing her

hand to his lips, he gave her one last look in which was concentrated

all the secret passions which had been called forth by this hour, and

hastily left the room.

XXIV.

A TRUE BILL.

Come to me, friend or foe,

And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick.--HENRY VI.

THE town of Sibley was in a state of excitement. About the court-house

especially the crowd was great and the interest manifested intense. The

Grand Jury was in session, and the case of the Widow Clemmens was before

it.

As all the proceedings of this body are private, the suspense of those

interested in the issue was naturally very great. The name of the man

lastly suspected of the crime had transpired, and both Hildreth and

Mansell had their partisans, though the mystery surrounding the latter

made his friends less forward in asserting his innocence than those of

the more thoroughly understood Hildreth. Indeed, the ignorance felt on

all sides as to the express reasons for associating the name of Mrs.

Clemmens' nephew with his aunt's murder added much to the significance

of the hour. Conjectures were plenty and the wonder great, but the

causes why this man, or any other, should lie under a suspicion equal to

that raised against Hildreth at the inquest was a mystery that none

could solve.

But what is the curiosity of the rabble to us? Our interest is in a

little room far removed from this scene of excitement, where the young

daughter of Professor Darling kneels by the side of Imogene Dare,

striving by caress and entreaty to win a word from her lips or a glance

from her heavy eyes.

"Imogene," she pleaded,--"Imogene, what is this terrible grief? Why did

you have to go to the court-house this morning with papa, and why have

you been almost dead with terror and misery ever since you got back?

Tell me, or I shall perish of mere fright. For weeks now, ever since you

were so good as to help me with my wedding-clothes, I have seen that

something dreadful was weighing upon your mind, but this which you are

suffering now is awful; this I cannot bear. Cannot you speak dear? Words

will do you good."

"Words!"

Oh, the despair, the bitterness of that single exclamation! Miss Darling

drew back in dismay. As if released, Imogene rose to her feet and

surveyed the sweet and ingenuous countenance uplifted to her own, with a

look of faint recognition of the womanly sympathy it conveyed.

"Helen," she resumed, "you are happy. Don't stay here with me, but go

where there are cheerfulness and hope."

"But I cannot while you suffer so. I love you, Imogene. Would you drive

me away from your side when you are so unhappy? You don't care for me as

I do for you or you could not do it."

"Helen!" The deep tone made the sympathetic little bride-elect quiver.

"Helen, some griefs are best borne alone. Only a few hours now and I

shall know the worst. Leave me."

But the gentle little creature was not to be driven away. She only clung

the closer and pleaded the more earnestly:

"Tell me, tell me!"

The reiteration of this request was too much for the pallid woman before

her. Laying her two hands on the shoulders of this child, she drew back

and looked her earnestly in the face.

"Helen," she cried, "what do you know of earthly anguish? A petted

child, the favorite of happy fortune, you have been kept from evil as

from a blight. None of the annoyances of life have been allowed to enter

your path, much less its griefs and sins. Terror with you is but a name,

remorse an unknown sensation. Even your love has no depths in it such as

suffering gives. Yet, since you do love, and love well, perhaps you can

understand something of what a human soul can endure who sees its only

hope and only love tottering above a gulf too horrible for words to

describe--a gulf, too, which her own hand---- But no, I cannot tell you.

I overrated my strength. I----"

She sank back, but the next moment started again to her feet: a servant

had opened the door.

"What is it!" she exclaimed; "speak, tell me."

"Only a gentleman to see you, miss."

"Only a----" But she stopped in that vain repetition of the girl's

simple words, and looked at her as if she would force from her lips the

name she had not the courage to demand; but, failing to obtain it,

turned away to the glass, where she quietly smoothed her hair and

adjusted the lace at her throat, and then catching sight of the

tear-stained face of Helen, stooped and gave her a kiss, after which she

moved mechanically to the door and went down those broad flights, one

after one, till she came to the parlor, when she went in and

encountered--Mr. Orcutt.

A glance at his face told her all she wanted to know.

"Ah!" she gasped, "it is then----"

"Mansell!"

It was five minutes later. Imogene leaned against the window where she

had withdrawn herself at the utterance of that one word. Mr. Orcutt

stood a couple of paces behind her.

"Imogene," said he, "there is a question I would like to have you

answer."

The feverish agitation expressed in his tone made her look around.

"Put it," she mechanically replied.

But he did not find it easy to do this, while her eyes rested upon him

in such despair. He felt, however, that the doubt in his mind must be

satisfied at all hazards; so choking down an emotion that was almost as

boundless as her own, he ventured to ask:

"Is it among the possibilities that you could ever again contemplate

giving yourself in marriage to Craik Mansell, no matter what the issue

of the coming trial may be?"

A shudder quick and powerful as that which follows the withdrawal of a

dart from an agonizing wound shook her whole frame for a moment, but she

answered, steadily:

"No; how can you ask, Mr. Orcutt?"

A gleam of relief shot across his somewhat haggard features.

"Then," said he, "it will be no treason in me to assure you that never

has my love been greater for you than to-day. That to save you from the

pain which you are suffering, I would sacrifice every thing, even my

pride. If, therefore, there is any kindness I can show you, any deed I

can perform for your sake, I am ready to attempt it, Imogene.

"Would you--" she hesitated, but gathered courage as she met his

eye--"would you be willing to go to him with a message from me?"

His glance fell and his lips took a line that startled Imogene, but his

answer, though given with bitterness was encouraging.

"Yes," he returned; "even that."

"Then," she cried, "tell him that to save the innocent, I had to betray

the guilty, but in doing this I did not spare myself; that whatever his

doom may be, I shall share it, even though it be that of death."

"Imogene!"

"Will you tell him?" she asked.

But he would not have been a man, much less a lover, if he could answer

that question now. Seizing her by the arm, he looked her wildly in the

face.

"Do you mean to kill yourself?" he demanded.

"I feel I shall not live," she gasped, while her hand went involuntarily

to her heart.

He gazed at her in horror.

"And if he is cleared?" he hoarsely ejaculated.

"I--I shall try to endure my fate."

He gave her another long, long look.

"So this is the alternative you give me?" he bitterly exclaimed. "I must

either save this man or see you perish. Well," he declared, after a few

minutes' further contemplation of her face, "I will save this man--that

is, if he will allow me to do so."

A flash of joy such as he had not perceived on her countenance for weeks

transformed its marble-like severity into something of its pristine

beauty.

"And you will take him my message also?" she cried.

But to this he shook his head.

"If I am to approach him as a lawyer willing to undertake his cause,

don't you see I can give him no such message as that?"

"Ah, yes, yes. But you can tell him Imogene Dare has risked her own life

and happiness to save the innocent."

"I will tell him whatever I can to show your pity and your misery."

And she had to content herself with this. In the light of the new hope

that was thus unexpectedly held out to her, it did not seem so

difficult. Giving Mr. Orcutt her hand, she endeavored to thank him, but

the reaction from her long suspense was too much, and, for the first

time in her brave young life, Imogene lost consciousness and fainted

quite away.

XXV.

AMONG TELESCOPES AND CHARTS.

Tarry a little--there is something else.--MERCHANT OF VENICE.

GOUVERNEUR HILDRETH was discharged and Craik Mansell committed to prison

to await his trial.

Horace Byrd, who no longer had any motive for remaining in Sibley, had

completed all his preparations to return to New York. His valise was

packed, his adieus made, and nothing was left for him to do but to step

around to the station, when he bethought him of a certain question he

had not put to Hickory.

Seeking him out, he propounded it.

"Hickory," said he, "have you ever discovered in the course of your

inquiries where Miss Dare was on the morning of the murder?"

The stalwart detective, who was in a very contented frame of mind,

answered up with great cheeriness:

"Haven't I, though! It was one of the very first things I made sure of.

She was at Professor Darling's house on Summer Avenue."

"At Professor Darling's house?" Mr. Byrd felt a sensation of dismay.

Professor Darling's house was, as you remember, in almost direct

communication with Mrs. Clemmens' cottage by means of a path through

the woods. As Mr. Byrd recalled his first experience in threading those

woods, and remembered with what suddenness he had emerged from them only

to find himself in full view of the West Side and Professor Darling's

spacious villa, he stared uneasily at his colleague and said:

"It is train time, Hickory, but I cannot help that. Before I leave this

town I must know just what she was doing on that morning, and whom she

was with. Can you find out?"

"_Can I find out?_"

The hardy detective was out of the door before the last word of this

scornful repetition had left his lips.

He was gone an hour. When he returned he looked very much excited.

"Well!" he ejaculated, breathlessly, "I have had an experience."

Mr. Byrd gave him a look, saw something he did not like in his face, and

moved uneasily in his chair.

"You have?" he retorted. "What is it? Speak."

"Do you know," the other resumed, "that the hardest thing I ever had to

do was to keep my head down in the hut the other day, and deny myself a

look at the woman who could bear herself so bravely in the midst of a

scene so terrible. Well," he went on, "I have to-day been rewarded for

my self-control. I have seen Miss Dare."

Horace Byrd could scarcely restrain his impatience.

"Where?" he demanded. "How? Tell a fellow, can't you?"

"I am going to," protested Hickory. "Cannot you wait a minute? _I_ had

to wait forty. Well," he continued more pleasantly as he saw the other

frown, "I went to Professor Darling's. There is a girl there I have

talked to before, and I had no difficulty in seeing her or getting a

five minutes' chat with her at the back-gate. Odd how such girls will

talk! She told me in three minutes all I wanted to know. Not that it was

so much, only----"

"Do get on," interrupted Mr. Byrd. "When did Miss Dare come to the house

on the morning Mrs. Clemmens was murdered, and what did she do while

there?"

"She came early; by ten o'clock or so, I believe, and she sat, if she

did sit, in an observatory they have at the top of the house: a place

where she often used to go, I am told, to study astronomy with Professor

Darling's oldest daughter."

"And was Miss Darling with her that morning? Did they study together all

the time she was in the house?"

"No; that is, the girl said no one went up to the observatory with Miss

Dare; that Miss Darling did not happen to be at home that day, and Miss

Dare had to study alone. Hearing this," pursued Hickory, answering the

look of impatience in the other's face, "I had a curiosity to interview

the observatory, and being--well, not a clumsy fellow at softsoaping a

girl--I at last succeeded in prevailing upon her to take me up. Byrd,

will you believe me when I tell you that we did it without going into

the house?"

"What?"

"I mean," corrected the other, "without entering the main part of the

building. The professor's house has a tower, you know, at the upper

angle toward the woods, and it is in the top of that tower he keeps his

telescopes and all that kind of thing. The tower has a special staircase

of its own. It is a spiral one, and opens on a door below that connects

directly with the garden. We went up these stairs."

"You dared to?"

"Yes; the girl assured me every one was out of the house but the

servants, and I believed her. We went up the stairs, entered the

observatory----"

"It is not kept locked, then?"

"It was not locked to-day--saw the room, which is a curious one--glanced

out over the view, which is well worth seeing, and then----"

"Well, what?"

"I believe I stood still and asked the girl a question or two more. I

inquired," he went on, deprecating the other's impatience by a wave of

his nervous hand, "when Miss Dare came down from this place on the

morning you remember. She answered that she couldn't quite tell; that

she wouldn't have remembered any thing about it at all, only that Miss

Tremaine came to the house that morning, and wanting to see Miss Dare,

ordered her to go up to the observatory and tell that lady to come down,

and that she went, but to her surprise did not find Miss Dare there,

though she was sure she had not gone home, or, at least, hadn't taken

any of the cars that start from the front of the house, for she had

looked at them every one as they went by the basement window where she

was at work."

"The girl said this?"

"Yes, standing in the door of this small room, and looking me straight

in the eye."

"And did you ask her nothing more? Say nothing about the time, Hickory,

or--or inquire where she supposed Miss Dare to have gone?"

"Yes, I asked her all this. I am not without curiosity any more than you

are, Mr. Byrd."

"And she replied?"

"Oh, as to the time, that it was somewhere before noon. Her reason for

being sure of this was that Miss Tremaine declined to wait till another

effort had been made to find Miss Dare, saying she had an engagement at

twelve which she did not wish to break."

"And the girl's notions about where Miss Dare had gone?"

"Such as you expect, Byrd. She said she did not know any thing about it,

but that Miss Dare often went strolling in the garden, or even in the

woods when she came to Professor Darling's house, and that she supposed

she had gone off on some such walk at this time, for, at one o'clock or

thereabouts, she saw her pass in the horse-car on her way back to the

town."

"Hickory, I wish you had not told me this just as I am going back to the

city."

"Wish I had not told it, or wish I had not gone to Professor Darling's

house as you requested?"

"Wish you had not told it. I dare not wish the other. But you spoke of

seeing Miss Dare; how was that? Where did you run across her?"

"Do you want to hear?"

"Of course, of course."

"But I thought----"

"Oh, never mind, old boy; tell me the whole now, as long as you have

told me any. Was she in the house?"

"I will tell you. I had asked the girl all these questions, as I have

said, and was about to leave the observatory and go below when I thought

I would cast another glance around the curious old place, and in doing

so caught a glimpse of a huge portfolio of charts, as I supposed,

standing upright in a rack that stretched across the further portion of

the room. Somehow my heart misgave me when I saw this rack, and,

scarcely conscious what it was I feared, I crossed the floor and looked

behind the portfolio. Byrd, there was a woman crouched there--a woman

whose pallid cheeks and burning eyes lifted to meet my own, told me only

too plainly that it was Miss Dare. I have had many experiences,"

Hickory allowed, after a moment, "and some of them any thing but

pleasant to myself, but I don't think I ever felt just as I did at that

instant. I believe I attempted a bow--I don't remember; or, at least,

tried to murmur some excuse, but the look that came into her face

paralyzed me, and I stopped before I had gotten very far, and waited to

hear what she would say. But she did not say much; she merely rose, and,

turning toward me, exclaimed: 'No apologies; you are a detective, I

suppose?' And when I nodded, or made some other token that she had

guessed correctly, she merely remarked, flashing upon me, however, in a

way I do not yet understand: 'Well, you have got what you desired, and

now can go.' And I went, Byrd, went; and I felt puzzled, I don't know

why, and a little bit sore about the heart, too, as if---- Well, I can't

even tell what I mean by that _if_. The only thing I am sure of is, that

Mansell's cause hasn't been helped by this day's job, and that if this

lady is asked on the witness stand where she was during the hour every

one believed her to be safely shut up with the telescopes and charts, we

shall hear----"

"What?"

"Well, that she _was_ shut up with them, most likely. Women like her are

not to be easily disconcerted even on the witness stand."

XXVI.

"HE SHALL HEAR ME!"

There's some ill planet reigns;

I must be patient till the heavens look

With an aspect more favorable.--WINTER'S TALE.

THE time is midnight, the day the same as that which saw this irruption

of Hickory into Professor Darling's observatory; the scene that of Miss

Dare's own room in the northeast tower. She is standing before a table

with a letter in her hand and a look upon her face that, if seen, would

have added much to the puzzlement of the detectives.

The letter was from Mr. Orcutt and ran thus:

I have seen Mr. Mansell, and have engaged myself

to undertake his defence. When I tell you that out

of the hundreds of cases I have tried in my still

short life, I have lost but a small percentage,

you will understand what this means.

In pursuance to your wishes, I mentioned your name

to the prisoner with an intimation that I had a

message from you to deliver. But he stopped me

before I could utter a word. "I receive no

communication from Miss Dare!" he declared, and,

anxious as I really was to do your bidding, I was

compelled to refrain; for his tone was one of

hatred and his look that of ineffable scorn.

This was all, but it was enough. Imogene had read these words over three

times, and now was ready to plunge the letter into the flame of a

candle to destroy it. As it burned, her grief and indignation took

words:

"He is alienated, completely alienated," she gasped; "and I do not

wonder. But," and here the full majesty of her nature broke forth in one

grand gesture, "he shall hear me yet! As there is a God above, he shall

hear me yet, even if it has to be in the open court and in the presence

of judge and jury!"