night, Noah drew up the fat panting
horses before Sir William's house. The porter, who had been watching all
day, opened the gate, the coach entered the courtyard, Noah uttered a
hoarse "Whoa!" and almost fell off the box to the ground. As soon as he
could get on his feet again, he went to the coach door, spoke to Frances,
ran to Sir William, who was waiting at the top of the house steps, candle
in hand, to welcome Roger, and spoke but one word: "Dead!"

Frances hurriedly came from the coach, and Sir William went to meet her.
Holding out her hands to him, she cried:--

"Oh, Sir William, they have killed your brother! Robbed him and killed
him!"

Frances was incoherently explaining to Sir William when Lady Wentworth
came down the steps and led her into the house. Then the doors were
opened wide, and poor old Roger's body was carried reverently to the best
parlor.

The following morning, when I was notified that Frances was at Sir
William's house, I went to see her and learned the particulars of the
tragedy, though she said nothing at that time about having recognized any
of the highwaymen, and seemed strangely reluctant to talk about the
affair.

On the fourth day after Roger's death he was buried in
Saint-Martin's-in-the-Fields churchyard, good Sir William taking the only
means in his power to express his love for his brother by an elaborate
funeral. Never were there more beautiful hatchments seen in London. They
bore Roger's humble coat-of-arms, half in white and half in black, to
denote that the deceased had left a widow. Never were there more nor
finer white mourning scarfs distributed among the mourners, and never in
the memory of man had so much burnt sherry been served at a funeral.

These extraordinary arrangements attracted a great deal of attention
throughout London and caused Roger's murder to be talked about far and
near. The result of this publicity was that the city authorities set on
foot an investigation which soon brought Wentworth, Crofts, and Berkeley
under suspicion. The sheriffs, however, kept their suspicions to
themselves, and I heard only faint whispers of what was going on.

After the funeral Lady Wentworth invited Frances to be her guest for a
week or two, and upon my advice the invitation was accepted.

Two or three days after the funeral, while Frances and I were walking out
together, she complained of young Wentworth's attentions.

"To-day he put his arm about me," she said, laughin