own conclusions--that it was you who had been in the quarrel,
though what cause of dispute you could have with Rachel, I was at a loss
to divine. Next came the inquest, and the medical men's revelation at
it: and that cleared up the mystery, 'Ho, ho,' I said to myself, 'so
Master Lionel can do a bit of courting on his own account, steady as he
seems.' I----"

"Did you assume I threw her into the pond?" again interposed Lionel.

"Not a bit of it. What next, Lionel? The ignoring of some of the
Commandments comes natural enough to the conscience; but the sixth--one
does not ignore that. I believed that you and Rachel might have come to
loggerheads, and that she, in a passion, flung herself in. I held the
glove still in my pocket; it seemed to be the safest place for it; and I
intended, before I left, to hand it over to you, and to give you my word
I'd keep counsel. On the night of the inquest, you were closeted in the
study with Mr. Verner. I chafed at it, for I wished to be closeted with
him myself. Unless I could get off from Verner's Pride the next day,
there would be no chance of my sailing in the projected ship--where our
passages had been already secured by Luke Roy. By and by you came into
the dining-room--do you remember it?--and told me Mr. Verner wanted me
in the study. It was just what _I_ wanted; and I went in. I shan't
forget my surprise to the last hour of my life. His greeting was an
accusation of me--of _me!_ that it was I who had played false with
Rachel. He had proof, he said. One of the house-girls had seen one of us
three young men coming from the scene that night--and he, Stephen
Verner, knew it could only be me. Fred was too cautious, he said; Lionel
he could depend upon; and he bitterly declared that he would not give me
a penny piece of the promised money, to take me on my way. A pretty
state of things, was it not, Lionel, to have one's projects put an end
to in that manner? In my dismay and anger, I blurted out the truth; that
one of us might have been seen coming from the scene, but it was not
myself; it was Lionel; and I took the glove out of my pocket and showed
it to him."

John Massingbird paused to take a draught of the rum-and-water, and then
resumed.

"I never saw any man so agitated as Mr. Verner. Upon my word, had I
foreseen the effect the news would have had upon him, I hardly think I
should have told it. His face turned ghastly; he lay back in his chair,
uttering groans of despair;