Between the common and the village there extended a fairly broad belt of trees which sprang from a deep-red soil, apparently volcanic in its origin. Through this wood there ran a narrow road in many a curve, purposely made tortuous so as to prolong the pleasure of walking under the shade of leafy boughs in the hot days of summer. From its formation this pathway--for it was little else--was called the Winding Lane, and at either end there was a stile shutting it in, so that no vehicles or horses could pass, but had to gain the common or village by the broad high road which skirted the town. Along the lane seats were placed for the convenience of passers-by, and in the long summer twilights the youths and maidens of Barnstead were accustomed to rest thereon and exchange love talk. Most of the marriages among the peasantry rose from meetings and promises in the Winding Lane.
But as yet there had been no tragedy in this pleasant pathway, and it was with feelings of consternation that the villagers heard of the Lester murder. Henceforth tradition and imagination and winter tales would invest the spot with ghostly interest. Already the lovers of the village declared that nothing would induce them to seek the lane after twilight, lest they should meet the spectre of the murdered girl. And this when the tragedy had been enacted only a few hours! Think, then, how such a statement would grow into an established belief when the circumstances of the death became sanctified by time!
Chaskin led his two companions through the wood, until he paused close beside the stile which barred the lane at that end from the common. Several rustics were examining the spot with eager interest; but on seeing squire and vicar they made speed to leave the lane before their arrival, lest they should be reproved for morbid curiosity. One heavy ploughman, however, was slow in going, and before he could hasten out of earshot, Herne called on him to wait. This the yokel did unwillingly enough, and looked rather afraid when the squire addressed him directly.
"Brent," said Herne, while his companions waited in wonder to know why he had stopped the man, "were you in the lane last night?"
"Ees, squire, I be," replied Brent, sheepishly.
"About what time?"
"Arter church, Squoire; between eight and nine."
"Were there many people in the lane?"
"Noa, Squoire; theer were a Methody meetin' at t'other end of Barnstead, and arter pass'n preached they all goas theer t' 'ear the caal for unconverted sinners."
"But you were in the lane?"
"Ees, Squoire; I wos wi' Jaane Bilway; but she made me taake her t' th' Methody Chapel alsoa."
"About what time did you leave this place?"
"Jest before nine."
"Did you see Miss Lester here?"
"Noa, sir."
"Did you see Mr. Lovel?"
"Noa, sir."
"Well--did you see anyone?" asked Herne impatiently.
"Noa, Squoire; I see noabody."
"Did you hear the shot fired?"
"Ees, I did, Squoire. I was passin' t' church wi' Jaane Bilway when I 'eard it. ''Uilol' ses I. 'there's some poachin' goin' on'; and I wanted to goa back and see; but Jaane she ses, 'Giles, you're a fule; 'tain't nothin',' soa I goes on wi' 'er to the Methody Chapel."
"About what time was the shot fired?" asked Paul, regardless of a frown from the squire.
"Just about nine, sir. T'clock was striking when I 'eard the shot."
"And you saw no one when in the lane?" said Herne, giving Brent a shilling.
"Noa, Squoire, not one soul, I sweer."
"Very good, Brent. You can go."
The man pulled a rough forelock and slouched off heavily. Herne looked after him with a frown, and afterwards turned towards the clergyman with a sharp look of interrogation. "Do you believe what that fellow says, Chaskin?" he demanded.
"Yes; I see no reason why he should lie."
"H'm! the reason might be found in his pocket."
"What do you mean, Herne?" asked Paul, sharply.
"Simply that Brent has been bribed."
"By whom, man?"
"By Lovel. Don't contradict me," said Herne, in authoritative tones. "I am certain of what I say. Milly came to this lane last night, else she would not have been found dead by yonder stile. She must have come to meet someone; and going on what has been told to me, the person she came to meet could only have been Lovel. If they walked up the lane together, they must have been seen by Brent and Jane Bilway. Lovel would be unwilling that I should be told of these stolen meetings, therefore he bribed the man to hold his tongue."
"Herne," burst out Chaskin, who had restrained himself with difficulty during this speech, "do you know what you are saying? You are accusing Brent of a felony--that is," corrected the vicar, "assuming that your belief that Lovel killed the girl is true. If Brent saw Lovel here he must believe the same thing, and he would not hold his tongue knowing that murder had been done."
"That depends on the amount of the bribe," said Herne, grimly; "but I'll find that out later. I am certain that Lovel was here and killed Milly."
"Why not ask Lovel himself?" suggested Paul, looking up. "Here he comes across the common."
"Wants to see the scene of his crime, no doubt!" said the squire, fiercely.
"Herne, you are unjust!" protested Chaskin.
"Wait till I speak with Lovel, and then judge, my friend."
The Vicar silently agreed with this remark, and the three men watched Lovel as he walked slowly towards the site. On catching sight of the trio he hesitated, and half stopped; but almost immediately he resumed his usual pace, and came towards them. Jumping over the stile, he made as to pass them with a hurried nod; but the squire, with a grim smile, placed himself in his path. So pointed was the movement that Lovel, much against his will, had no alternative but to stop. He looked pale and haggard, and was not dressed with usual care; otherwise he gave no sign of inward perturbation, but was calm and collected when he faced Herne.
"A word with you, Mr. Lovel," said Darcy, sharply.
"A dozen," replied Lovel, as sharply, "provided they are addressed to me in the terms one gentleman usually employs to another."
"Oh, I shall be as polite as you please," sneered the squire, with an ugly smile, "so long as you answer my questions."
"I shall answer your questions if I can, Mr. Herne."
"Very good, sir. Then tell me why you met Miss Lester in this lane, on this spot, last night."
Lovel turned a shade paler, and moistened his dry lips; but he faced his questioner unflinchingly and replied clearly, without hesitation, "I did not meet Miss Lester last night," said he, deliberately.
"I have reason to believe the contrary," retorted Herne, at white heat.
"Give me your reason, and I will disprove it," was the reply of Lovel.
"A certain person wrote to me that you intended to meet Miss Lester."
"What is the name of your informant?"
"I decline to give it, Mr. Lovel."
"In that case," said Lucas, moving on, "I must decline to answer further questions."
"No!" cried Herne, laying a strong grasp on the arm of the young man, "you don't escape me that way, you--you murderer!"
"Murderer!" repeated Lovel, shaking off the grip of the other. "What do you mean?"
"Mean, sir?--that you shot Miss Lester; that you killed my promised wife!"
"You are mad to make so monstrous an accusation!" said Lovel, sharply. "I would not have hurt a hair of Miss Lester's head. I--I--I respected her too much."
"You mean you loved her too much," scoffed Herne.
Lovel shrugged his shoulders, and turning his back on the squire addressed himself to Chaskin and Mexton. "Gentlemen," he said, "Mr. Herne is evidently upset by the death of Miss Lester, and not responsible for his speech. I should advise you to take him home."
"But you can assure him that you did not meet Miss Lester last night?" said Chaskin.
"What!" cried Lovel, ironically, "do you believe also that I did? I beg your pardon; I see you are Herne's most intimate friend, and must stand up for him."
"I can stand up for myself with the help of God," said Herne, fiercely; "you need not lie to me, Lovel. I know you loved Millicent Lester, and that you met her several times during my absence. You wanted to marry her and draw her into worldly paths."
Lovel faced round with black wrath on his face, and burst out in a fury, "I wanted to save her from you!" he cried, clenching his hands. "I loved her with a love of which your cold, frigid nature is incapable. Yes, I met her several times, and I urged her to break off the marriage with a man who desired to use her in order to minister to his vanity. You would have made a nun of the poor girl; you would have tortured her heart with your infernal religious fanaticism; and from that fate I wished to rescue her. Much as I deplore her death, I am glad she died rather than marry you!"
"I believe that--you mocker and profligate! you----"
"Profligate!" repeated Lovel, in disdain. "And what are you--in London? Here you are a saint, with your religion and aspirations; but what are you when with Catinka?"
"Catinka," cried Mexton, astonished at Lovel's knowledge of the name.
"Yes; the Polish violinist, with her Anarchistic plots against the Czar. The woman who uses her beauty to snare men into conspiracy and devilment. I knew her before you did, Herne, and I know she wanted me to become her slave and fellow-conspirator; but I escaped and came down here out of her way. I heard how you met her, and I know how you love her----"
"Liar! I do not love her!"
"You do--you do!" declared Lovel furiously; "you love her, and it was at her house that you wasted your time in London when supposed to be absent on religious missions. I intended to tell all your wickedness to Miss Lester last night."
"Ah! you met her! I knew it!"
"I did not meet her," returned Lovel haughtily; "she left the church in the middle of the service, and I did not see her again. This morning I heard of her death; but I am as innocent of it as you are."
"I don't believe it!" said Herne in hard tones. "I believe you met her, and because she would not leave me for you, you killed her."
"I deny that I did, Herne; but since you accuse me, it remains for you to make good your accusation."
"I shall do so--and hang you for your crime!"
"Take care the halter does not go round your own neck."
"What! do you accuse me of the murder?"
"I accuse no one. I leave it to you, Mr. Herne, to make accusations which you cannot prove. Good-day to you all. Herne, you know where I live; any time you wish me to meet you I shall do so. But," added Lucas scornfully, "till you have evidence, I should advise you to restrain your tongue. I may not be so patient at our next meeting."
Lovel walked away with a proud and defiant air, but Herne made no attempt to follow. He stood quite still, pale and motionless, with a glassy look in his eyes, and his mouth slightly open. Paul turned from watching the retreating figure of Lovel, to address him, and recoiled from this frozen look with an exclamation of alarm.
"Chaskin! What is the matter with Herne?"
The clergyman turned round, and seeing the rigidity of his friend, went forward and shook his arm. "It is one of his trances," he said composedly, "and will pass in a few moments. The excitement of speaking with Lovel has thrown him into it."
"Is he often like this?"
"No; only when his nervous system is wrought up by unusual excitement. As a rule it is his religious emotions which throw him into these states."
"Can he move?"
"Not unless he is guided; see!" Here Chaskin took Herne's arm, and led him down the road. The squire moved stiffly, like an automaton, with unseeing eyes staring straight before him. "Otherwise, Mr. Mexton," continued the Vicar, "he remains standing, or sitting, or lying, in precisely the same attitude as when in his trance."
"Can't you wake him out of this cataleptic state?"
"There is no need to," rejoined Chaskin; "he will come out of it as suddenly as he has fallen into it. The time varies, that is all; he may remain thus for an hour, or recover himself in a few moments. See--he is getting better now."
At that moment the eyelids of Herne quivered, a sigh issued from his half-open mouth, and a sudden colour flushed his face. In another minute he looked round and spoke quite naturally. "Where is Lovel?" he demanded.
"Gone away," replied Chaskin, taking his friend's arm; "and I think we had better go too."
"No," said Herne, who seemed quite unaware of his trance; "we must search this spot." He looked round at the trees, and down on the red soil. Suddenly he picked up a feather--that of a goose, apparently--which was stained in attractive bands of red, yellow, blue, and green.
"The Rainbow Feather!" he cried in a tone of terror; "and here--the Rainbow Feather!"
There were many people in Barnstead on the day when the inquest was held on the body of Milly Lester. The youth and beauty of the poor girl, the tragic circumstances of her death, and the knowledge, which was now spread widely abroad, that Dr. Lester was the assassin, all invested the affair with wondrous interest. From far and near people poured into Barnstead to hear the evidence of the father's guilt even at second hand; and crowds repaired to the Winding Lane in order to examine the fatal spot. Never had such excitement been known in the somnolent village.
The coroner and jury were assembled in the largest room of The Herne Arms, and after surveying the body of the victim, they called all necessary witnesses to testify to the manner of her death, and the guilt of him who had brought it about. Drek had prepared his case against Dr. Lester with great care, being now convinced by the strongest of circumstantial evidence that he was the murderer. As yet Lester had not been arrested, but Drek had kept him constantly under his own eye, and had in his pocket a warrant for his arrest. This he intended to execute as soon as the jury delivered their verdict. He had no doubt as to what the verdict would be.
Darcy Herne was present at the inquest, and several times he asserted his belief in the innocence of Dr. Lester. When Lester himself, pale and haggard, arrived at the inn, under the escort of Drek, the squire shook him by the hand in the warmest manner. Lester was much touched by this proof of friendship from one who had never regarded him with much approval.
"It is good of you to give me your hand, Herne," he said in a faltering voice, "particularly as you know the cloud that lies over my reputation."
"It is for that reason I do it, Lester. I believe you to be innocent."
"Ah," sighed Lester, passing his hand across his eyes, "I wish I could believe that myself."
Herne was rather amazed by this strange speech, and replied rather stiffly: "You must certainly know if you shot Milly or not?"
"That is just what I don't know," retorted Lester with a haggard look. "I left home under the influence of drink and with a pistol in my possession, angry with Milly for the way in which she was deceiving you. I recollect nothing after that until I found myself at dawn in my own garden; the events of the night have vanished from my mind; my memory is a complete blank. Who knows but what I may not have shot my poor Milly unknowingly?"
"H'm!" said Herne, thoughtfully; "in a condition like that you would certainly act in accordance with the uppermost thought in your mind. Was it to kill Milly?"
"God forbid! Even in my drunken frenzy I had no thought of harming my own flesh and blood. I wanted to kill the man who was to meet her--Lucas Lovel."
"How do you know that he was going to meet her on that night?" asked Herne, eagerly.
"I did not know for certain," replied Lester, "but as Milly had not come home, I thought she might be with Lovel. She met him before, you know."
"Yes, I know," said Darcy, gloomily. "Well, if you went out to kill Lovel, you would not shoot at your own daughter."
"She might have thrown herself in the way to protect Lovel."
"I doubt it. But only Lovel can prove that, and he denies that he met her on that night."
"Do you believe him?"
"No!" said Herne savagely. "I received a note in London which advised me that they were going to meet."
"Who wrote the note?"
"I can't tell you yet. The person who wrote it wishes to remain unknown for the present. But I believe that Lovel met Milly and killed her because she would not marry him. Mind you," continued Herne, energetically, "I have no proof of this; but I mean to obtain proof in order to hang Lovel and save you."
"I'm afraid I'm past saving," sighed Lester. "Even Drek believes me to be guilty, and, as I cannot recall the events of the night, I dare not swear that I am innocent. Oh, God! that I should be in such a position! ignorant of my own acts; and all on account of that accursed drink! I am rightly punished for my vice."
Herne said nothing, for the present was no time for reproaches, but, taking Lester by the arm, he led him into the room where the jury were seated. Already the proceedings had begun, and the witnesses summoned by Inspector Drek were giving evidence. Mr. Chaskin was called first, and deposed that after evening service on Sunday he had been summoned to a house on the other side of the common to pray with a dying man. He returned to Barnstead by the short way of the Winding Lane, and on entering the wood he had stumbled over a body which was lying in the roadway near the stile. Thinking that she had fainted--for by the touch of the garments and the faint glimmer of the moonlight he perceived that the deceased was a woman--he lighted a match to see who she was, and what was the matter with her. Then he recognised the face of Millicent Lester, and that she was dead. There was a wound in the back of the head. The body was lying face downward, and he had to turn it over in order to perceive the features. At once he went on to The Herne Arms and roused up four or five men. These returned with him to the stile and carried the body to the house of Dr. Lester, whence it was removed subsequently to the inn for the inquest. Mr. Chaskin said he heard no shot, and that he had seen no one about either on the common or in the wood. It was about eleven, or a little after, when he discovered the body. He had no idea as to who could have killed the deceased.
The next witness was Dr. Rollin, the rival to Lester in Barnstead, and the medical man who had examined the body. He deposed that he had made the examination on Monday morning. The deceased had been shot from behind, and the bullet had passed right through the brain. It had entered a little above the nape of the neck, and had come out on one side of the nose. Death must have been instantaneous. He examined the body at nine o'clock on Monday morning; and from its condition he could state that death must have taken place between eight and nine of the previous night; twelve hours, more or less, elapsed, as he believed, between the death and the examination.
Inspector Drek stated that he had been called to Barnstead from Marborough by the information that Millicent Lester had been murdered. He came at once to the house of the deceased. She had died from the effects of a pistol shot, as Dr. Rollin had stated. He had examined the spot where the body had been found, but could discover no evidence there likely to lead to the identification of the criminal. The pistol could not be found; and as the bullet had passed right through the head of the deceased it could not be found either. The spot where the body was discovered was of a deep-red clay, somewhat softened by recent rain. There were many footmarks about, but these were probably those of the bearers who had brought home the body.
Iris Link, on being sworn, declared that the deceased had said nothing to her about going to the Winding Lane on that night. She (deceased) had left St. Dunstan's Church during the service and had not been seen alive since leaving. Witness did not know why deceased had left. She knew that the dead girl was in the habit of meeting Mr. Lucas Lovel, but did not know for certain if she had met him on that night. Still, she suspected, as deceased had not come home that such a meeting might have taken place. The body of deceased was brought home shortly after midnight on Sunday night. She had no idea who had killed deceased, nor had any knowledge of the motive for the crime.
Mr. Mexton watched the face and listened to the voice of Iris as she made this last statement, for he recalled how she had asked him not to seek for the assassin. For this reason he believed that she knew who had killed Milly, and for some reason--of which he was naturally ignorant--she desired to screen the guilty person. It struck him that she might betray herself while under examination, but in this he was wrong. Without a change of expression, in a firm voice she denied all knowledge of the possible murderer. After this final assertion she stepped down and gave place to Lucas Lovel.
This young man, who was pale but composed, stated that he had not met Milly Lester on the fatal night. He had intended to do so, but meeting with Gran Jimboy he had gone with her to her tent on the other side of the common, and had not returned to The Herne Arms, where he resided, till ten o'clock. He had walked over by the road, and had not taken the short cut through the woods. He swore that he had not been in the Winding Lane on Sunday night.
Gran Jimboy was summoned by Lovel to corroborate this evidence. The old gipsy stated that she had met Lucas at eight o'clock, immediately after service in St. Dunstan's Church, and had induced him to come to her tent to hear some information which nearly concerned him. The information was private, and had nothing to do with the murder. Lovel, said the woman, had stayed with her till nearly ten o'clock, and then had walked back to the village by the high road. She knew this, as she had gone part of the way with him.
Thus, by the evidence of Gran Jimboy, an alibi in favour of Lovel was clearly proved; and he was exonerated from any complicity in the crime. Still, Herne did not believe the evidence, as Mexton could see by the mocking smile on his lips. However, he made no attempt to speak, and the proceedings continued.
Eliza, the servant of Dr. Lester, was the next witness, and she told her story with shrill volubility. For the moment she was the most important person in the room, as on her evidence was based the charge which was known to be made against Dr. Lester. Eliza knew that her master would be arrested on the statements she could make against him, and relished the situation exceedingly. She had no idea of the cruelty of her feelings towards the man whose bread she had eaten.
Eliza stated, with many airs and graces, that she was the domestic servant of Dr. Lester, and had been in this situation for some years. Her master was in the habit of getting drunk two or three times in the week; when in this condition, he always went about with a loaded revolver, so that the inmates of the house were in peril of their lives. Dr. Lester had been delighted by the engagement of the deceased to Mr. Herne; and he was angry at the meeting of Miss Lester with Mr. Lovel. Eliza knew that they met, as it was common gossip. On the night of the murder Miss Lester and Miss Link went to church, while the doctor remained at home drinking.
Miss Milly did not return; but Miss Iris did, in the company of Mrs. Drass. When Mrs. Drass departed, Eliza heard high words between the doctor and Miss Link relative to the meetings of the deceased with Mr. Lovel. Afterwards Miss Iris went out to seek Miss Milly, whom she thought was with Mr. Lovel; but Eliza did not know if this were so. Dr. Lester continued drinking, and, fearing lest he should cause trouble, witness watched the door of the consulting-room. Shortly after half-past eight Dr. Lester came out, holding a pistol in his hand; he was mad with drink, and cried out about his daughter and Lovel. Then he rushed out, and witness thought he intended murder. He did not come home till seven in the morning, and then he had no pistol, but his clothes were daubed with red mud, such as is found in the Winding Lane. He began to drink again; but before doing so he changed his clothes. Witness swore that he went out with the intention of killing his daughter, but she did not think he did it deliberately, as he was mad with drink.
Dr. Lester was then called to refute this evidence if he was able. He stated that he had gone out as Eliza described, and with a pistol. He wished to kill Lovel, but he did not know what he said. He did not remember what he did or where he went after leaving the house; but he had an indistinct recollection of meeting someone--man or woman he could not say. His pistol was gone when he returned home at seven in the morning, but he did not know where he lost it. Also his clothes were covered with red mud, so it was possible he might have wandered into the Winding Lane, and have fallen in the moist clay. But he recollected nothing. He had no intention of harming his daughter, as he loved her too much.
Iris Link, recalled, said that Dr. Lester was in the habit of carrying about a loaded revolver when drunk. She did not know if he took it out on the Sunday night, but it was not in its case the next day. She stated also that she heard a shot fired at nine o'clock, when she was standing in the shadow of St. Dunstan's Church. She had never heard Dr. Lester threaten his daughter; but he was certainly very irate at the behaviour of Mr. Lovel.
This was all the evidence which had been collected by Drek; and it certainly was against Lester. His own testimony rather inculpated than exonerated him; and from the faces of the jury Paul saw that they inclined to believe Lester guilty. Mexton himself could not make up his mind; appearances pointed to the perpetration of the crime by Dr. Lester when in a state of intoxication; but it was possible that he might be innocent after all. Still, how his innocence was to be proved it was difficult to say.
"Herne might do it," thought Paul, as he took down the evidence, "for he seems to believe Lovel guilty, although Gran Jimboy's statement goes to clear him. Also Herne knows something in connection with that feather which he picked up. I wonder what that odd-coloured feather has to do with the matter, and whether it could prove the guilt of some person of whom at present we know nothing?"
There was no answer to this question, and Herne made no sign of making any statement about the feather in favour of Lester. He stood quite still, and listened to the summing-up of the coroner--a summing-up which was dead against Lester. The coroner declared that Lester must have been in the Winding Lane on that night, else he could not have got the red clay on his clothes. The question was whether he was there after or before nine o'clock, the hour when, according to Miss Link's evidence, the fatal shot was fired. The coroner was inclined to think that Lester went straight from his own house to the Winding Lane, knowing that was the spot in which his daughter usually met Lovel; and there, finding his daughter waiting for Lovel--who was then in the tent of Gran Jimboy--had fired and killed her. Perhaps he would have killed Lovel had he been present, but in his absence he vented his rage on the deceased. The crime, however, was committed while Lester was drunk, and therefore he was not responsible for his actions.
The result of this speech was that the jury--already prejudiced--found Lester guilty; and immediately the wretched father was arrested by Inspector Drek.
When the inquest was over, and Dr. Lester had departed for Marborough gaol under the escort of Inspector Drek, the young journalist remained standing thoughtfully in the square before the inn. Nobody was surprised at the verdict, and everyone--as Paul could hear asserted on all sides--believed that Dr. Lester had murdered his own daughter while in a state of frenzy induced by intoxication. But Mexton had his doubts about the matter, principally on account of the words spoken by Iris when she wished him to cease from searching for the assassin. He wished to question her as to what she meant; and implore her, if she knew the truth, to reveal it and save her unfortunate stepfather. While he was considering the advisability of following Iris to Poverty Villa, he felt a touch on his arm. It was Eliza, and her face was grave.
"I want to speak t' you, sir, if y' don't mind," she said quietly, with an entire absence of her former self-importance; "but not here; I want t' speak you--alone."
"Why? Is anything wrong?"
"I think so, Mr. Mexton--and with Miss Iris."
"Miss Iris?" repeated Paul, glancing round. "Where is she?"
"She's gone home. You follow her, sir, and ask her a question."
"What kind of question?" demanded Paul, startled by this hint.
Eliza drew Mexton to one side, until they were both out of earshot of the scattered groups, and bent forward to whisper in his ear, "Ask her why she went out after they brought home the corpse of Miss Milly?" she said; and before Paul could make any comment on this remark, she laid her finger on her mouth, and walked away.
At first Paul intended to follow her, and demand an explanation; but on consideration he deemed it best to take her advice, and ask the question directly of Iris herself. More would be learnt by thus going to the fountain-head. Eliza evidently suspected something; and, afraid to question Iris directly, had hinted her suspicions to Paul that he might do so. With his usual promptitude Mexton sent over his notes on the trial by special messenger to the editor of the "Tory Times" at Marborough; and set forth at a brisk walk to Poverty Villa. He believed firmly at the moment that the saving of Dr. Lester from suffering unjustly lay in the hands of his step-daughter.
As he passed along the street towards the desolate house in which the poor girl was waiting, he was surprised to meet with Herne, and still more surprised when Herne stopped to speak; for the man was not over-friendly towards him.
"What do you think of the verdict?" asked the squire abruptly.
"It seems just enough, going by the evidence," replied Mexton cautiously.
"No doubt. This is one of those cases in which circumstantial evidence accumulates to hang an innocent man."
"You believe Dr. Lester to be innocent?"
"I do--as surely as I believe Lovel to be guilty."
"My dear sir!" protested the journalist. "Lovel proved his innocence by an alibi."
"No doubt; on the evidence of that old witch Mother Jimboy. Bah! a made-up plot!"
"I don't think so, Herne. Why should Mother Jimboy assist Lovel?"
"Why?" repeated the squire--"because blood is thicker than water; and, I told you the other day, Lovel has got gipsy blood in his veins."
"Who told you so?"
"The lady at whose name you blushed when I mentioned it in the Winding Lane."
"Catinka?" said Paul, blushing again.
"Yes; Catinka, the violinist. Lovel knows her, and told her that his mother was Romany, perhaps the daughter of Gran Jimboy--who knows? That is why the old woman lied."
"Because Lovel is her grandson?"
"No, no; I am not sure of that; but because Lovel is a half-gipsy. But in spite of the alibi I believe he is guilty. I'll prove his guilt and hang him!"
"Why do you hate him so, Herne?"
"Because he led that poor girl to her death. I wished to save the soul of Milly; but it is lost, and Lovel is the cause. Besides, I believe it is my duty to succor the afflicted, and of the afflicted Dr. Lester is one. An innocent man shall not die on the scaffold if I can help it. God forbid! I'll save Lester, and hang Lovel. The end of this tragedy has not yet come, Mexton."
"But if you----"
Herne waved his hand and interrupted Mexton.
"I can't waste any more time discussing the matter," he said, retreating. "I'll see you again when I have proofs to hang Lovel." After which speech he walked rapidly away, without the courtesy of an adieu.
"Mad!" said Paul to himself, and resumed his interrupted journey towards Poverty Villa. In his own heart the young man believed that Herne was insane; his fanaticism in religion was a proof of an ill-balanced mind; and now this furious hatred of Lovel--just enough, in the face of Lovel's attentions to Milly in wilful disregard of the engagement with Herne--threatened to rob him of all his self-control. Failing to fasten the crime on Lovel, and it seemed impossible to do so, Herne was quite capable of shooting the man in a fit of rage. Knowing that Chaskin had most influence over Darcy, the journalist determined to put him on his guard relative to the squire's hatred of Lovel. But this warning word need not be spoken immediately; and in the meantime Paul was anxious to see Iris.
The door of Poverty Villa was wide open; and the untidy house in its neglected garden looked more desolate than ever. Lester was on his way to Marborough gaol; Milly was lying in her coffin at The Herne Arms; and Eliza had not yet returned. Therefore Paul knew that Iris was alone in the house with a heavy burden of grief to bear. Slipping lightly into the passage, he glanced through the open door of the dining-room, but she was not there. The drawing-room was also empty; so as a last resource he softly opened the door of the consulting-room, and beheld the poor girl seated at the desk with her head bowed on her folded arms. Sobs were shaking her frame, and she looked as though the sorrows of the past week were crushing her to the earth.
"Iris," he said softly, "my poor girl."
With an exclamation she lifted her head, and on seeing Paul rose to her feet hastily, brushing away the tears from her face. Then, with a little gasp, she moved forward with outstretched hands, to greet the only friend who remained to her in the desolation of her life.
"Paul," she said with relief, "oh, my dear, I am glad to see you!"
He led her to a seat, and, taking a chair beside her, pressed her hand warmly. "My dear Iris," said he, "at such a time you need the services of your best friend. Let me be that friend."
"Thank you, Paul," she said faintly. "Oh, this horrible tragedy! Shall I ever get it out of my head?"
"Time will bring comfort, Iris. In the meantime, let me ask what you intend to do now? You cannot remain here."
"No; you are right there. Milly is dead; her father is in gaol on the charge of having killed her, and I am alone in the world."
"Have you any money?"
"Not one penny. The last money I got from my step-father went to pay last week's bills."
"Then you cannot remain here, as I said before."
"Where am I to go?" asked Iris helplessly.
"To Marborough--to my mother. She told me to ask you."
"How good and kind of her, Paul! I should like--but, oh!" she burst out, "how can I go to Marborough to be pointed out as the relative of a murderer?"
"Wait one moment before you call Dr. Lester by that name, Iris. Are you sure that he is the murderer of Milly?"
"I don't know. I can't say. The verdict at the inquest----"
"Never mind the verdict at the inquest," interposed Paul quickly. "I want to know what you think."
"Why do you want to know what I think?"
"Because I believe you can save an innocent man from being hanged."
"I? No, no! I can do nothing!"
"Iris," said Mexton, taking her hand, "you asked me never to look for the assassin of Milly. Did you do so to save Dr. Lester?"
"No. At that time I did not think that he would be accused."
"Then you suspect someone?"
"I--I have my suspicions," she said, in hesitating tones.
"What are they? To whom do they point?"
"I can't tell you. I am not certain. I may be deceived. Paul!" cried Iris in desperation, "don't ask me. My answer may condemn an innocent person!"
"Your silence acts in the same way, Iris. Dr. Lester is in danger of death, and you know he is innocent."
"He is--he is! I don't believe that he killed Milly. But how should I know the name of the real assassin?"
"Because you saw him on that night."
"I? I was not out on that night--at least, after the body was brought home."
"Iris, why will you lie to me? Eliza saw you leave the house after midnight."
"Eliza! Ah, that wretched girl has brought ruin on us all!"
"Not so--if I can save you. Tell me--did you go out?"
"Wait--wait! I'll answer in a moment. Give me time."
She rose to her feet, and, with clasped hands, walked twice or thrice up and down the room. Evidently she was considering what to say, and after some thought she faced round on Paul.
"I shall tell you," she said slowly, "but you will use the knowledge to hunt down the assassin of Milly?"
"Assuredly! I wish to save Dr. Lester from suffering an unjust death."
"So do I, so do I! But, oh!"--she struck her hand together--"was ever a woman placed in such a position? If I could only speak!"
"You must," said Paul determinedly, "or else have your step-father's death at your door. Come, Iris, do you know the name of the assassin?"
"No, but I suspect----"
"Suspect whom?"
"Lucas Lovel."
Mexton rose from his seat in astonishment. "Do you believe him guilty, as Herne does?"
"Does Mr. Herne believe in his guilt?" asked Iris quickly.
"So thoroughly that he intends to bring Lovel to the scaffold."
"He will never succeed in doing so," cried the girl involuntarily.
"Why not?"
"He will not be able to obtain any evidence."
"I'm not so sure of that," said Mexton drily. "Herne is a fanatic; he is clever; he is extremely pertinacious; and he hates Lovel like poison."
"For all that, I do not believe he will be able to accumulate sufficient evidence to get Mr. Lovel arrested. Besides, he has a clever foe, who will defend Mr. Lovel."
"A foe?" said Paul, puzzled--"and the name of the foe?"
"Mother Jimboy."
"What! that old fool! How can she defend Lovel?"
"She did so to-day by that alibi. She will do so again, you may be sure."
"What reason have you to believe that Mrs. Jimboy is implicated in the case!"
Iris thought for a moment. "On the day before Milly was killed," she said, slowly, "she and Mr. Lovel met with Gran Jimboy, who prophesied by palmistry that Milly would die a violent death."
"You don't say so! Go on."
"Well, Milly did perish by violence the next night. I truly believe that she met Lovel in the Winding Lane, and that he killed her."
"Why should he kill her? He loved her."
"He did--so much that he killed her rather than that Mr. Herne should marry her. I tell you, Paul, that Mr. Lucas is a man of violent passions, and I believe he was egged on by Mother Jimboy to the murder."
"Why should Mother Jimboy desire Milly's death?"
"I don't know; no more than I can guess why she provided that lying alibi. I am sure that Lovel shot Milly, and then went across the common to Mother Jimboy's tent so as to appear innocent."
"But why do you believe all this?"
"Because of the prophecy which was fulfilled; because of the unexplained association of Mother Jimboy and Lovel, and because I saw Lovel when I went out after midnight."
"You saw Lovel?" said Paul, incredulously.
"Yes; I fancied that Dr. Lester might have killed Milly; and to save him I went to look for him. I could not find him on the fatal spot, but there was a man there who ran away when he heard my approach. I saw his face in the moonlight. He was Mr. Lovel."