curiosity: bewilderment at the extraordinary and wholly unexpected
turn of events had been merged in a sense of respectful awe, which
rendered every mouth silent, and lowered every lid.

Squire Boatfield, almost paralyzed with astonishment, had murmured half
stupidly:

"Adam Lambert ... dead? ... I do not understand."

He turned to Marmaduke de Chavasse as if vaguely, instinctively
expecting an answer to the terrible puzzle from him.

De Chavasse's feet, over which he himself seemed to have no control, had
of a truth led him forward, so that he, too, stood not far from the old
woman now. He had watched her--silent and rigid,--conscious only of one
thing--a trivial matter certes--of Editha's inquiring eyes fixed
steadily upon him.

Everything else had been merged in a kind of a dream. But the mute
question in those eyes was what concerned him. It seemed to represent
the satisfaction of that morbid curiosity which had been such a terrible
obsession during these past nerve-racking days.

Editha, realizing the identity of the dead man, would there and then
know the entire truth. But Editha's fate was too closely linked to his
own to render her knowledge of that truth dangerous to de Chavasse:
therefore, with him it was merely a sense of profound satisfaction that
someone would henceforth share his secret with him.

It is quite impossible to analyze the thoughts of the man who thus stood
by--a silent and almost impassive spectator--of a scene, wherein his
fate, his life, an awful retribution and deadly justice, were all
hanging in the balance. He was not mad, nor did he act with either
irrelevance or rashness. The sense of self-protection was still keen in
him ... violently keen ... although undoubtedly he, and he alone, was
responsible for the events which culminated in the present crisis.

The whole aspect of affairs had changed from the moment that the real
identity of the dead had been established. Everyone here present would
regard this new mystery in an altogether different light to that by
which they had viewed the former weird problem; but still there need be
no danger to the murderer.

Editha would know, of course, but no one else, and it would be vastly
curious anon to see what lady Sue would do.

Therefore, Sir Marmaduke was chiefly conscious of Editha's presence,
and then only of Sue.

"Some old woman's folly," he now said roughly, in response to Squire
Boatfield's mute inquiry, "awhile ago she ident