en stood looking at her for a moment.

"You are terribly pale," he said at last. "Will you come downstairs and
let me give you something to eat and drink?"

"Oh, no, thank you. I want nothing. And Ethel may need me: I cannot bear
to be far away."

"Have you had nothing all day? It is after five o'clock."

She shook her head.

"Then you must eat before I talk to you. I have several things to say,
and you must have strength to listen. Sit still: I will be back
directly."

He went away, and Lesley leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
She was very weary, but even in her trouble there was some sweetness for
her in the knowledge that Maurice was attending to her needs. When he
returned with wine and food, she roused herself to accept both, knowing
very well that he would not tell her what she wanted to hear until she
had done his bidding. The door between bed and dressing room was closed;
the house was very quiet, and the light was dim. Maurice spoke at last,
in grave, low tones.

"I have just come from your father," he said. Lesley started and clasped
her hands. "Is he at home again?"

"No. They would not let him go. But take heart--we, who know him, will
stand by him until he is a free man."

"Then you believe--as I believe?" she asked, tremulously.

"Would it be possible for me to do otherwise? Hasn't he been my friend
for many a year? You have surely no need to ask!"

Lesley, looking up at him, stretched out her hand in silence. He took it
in both his own and kissed it tenderly. Seeing her grief, and seeing
also her sympathy for another woman who grieved, had, for the time
being, cured him of his anger against her. He had cherished some bitter
feeling towards her for a while; but he forgot it now.

"I am as sure," he said, fervently, "that Caspar Brooke could not commit
murder as I am sure that _you_ could not. It is an absurdity to think of
it."

"Then what has made people think of it?" asked Lesley. "How has it come
about?"

Maurice paused. "There is a mystery somewhere," he said slowly, "which
is a little difficult to fathom. Can you bear to hear the details? Your
father told me to tell them to you--as gently as I could."

"Tell me all--all, please."

"Poor Oliver Trent was found dead early this morning on the stair of a
lodging-house in Whitechapel. I have been to the place myself: it is now
under the care of the police. He had been beaten about the head ... it
was very horrible ... with