repetition of this alarming word, a change of
the most marked character took place in young Travis' manner. "What does
that mean?" he asked. "I am not sure that I understand your use of that
word _incriminate_."

Dr. Price explained himself, to the seeming horror of the startled
Englishman.

"You think that of me!" he cried, "of me, who----"

But here indignation made him speechless, till some feeling stronger
than the one subduing him to silence forced him again into speech, and
he supplemented in broken tones: "I am only a stranger to you and
consequently am willing to pardon your misconception of my character and
the principles by which I regulate my life. I have a horror of crime and
all violence; besides, the young lady--she awakened my deepest admiration
and reverence. I,"--again he stopped; again he burst forth,--"I would
sooner have died myself than seen such angel graces laid low. Let my
emotion be proof of what I say. It was a man of the hardest heart who
killed her."

"It would seem so."

It was the Coroner who spoke. He was nonplussed; and Mr. Gryce no less
so. Never had either of them been confronted by a blinder or more
bewildering case. An incomprehensible crime and a suspect it was
impossible to associate with a deed of blood! There must be some other
explanation of the mournful circumstance they were considering. There had
been twenty or more people in the building, but--and here was the rub--if
the chart which they had drawn up was correct and the calculations which
they had drawn from it were to be depended upon, this man was the only
person who had been in this gallery when the arrow was shot.

With a side glance at Mr. Gryce, who seemed content to remain silent in
the background, Dr. Price turned again to Mr. Travis.

"Your admiration of the young lady must have been as sudden as it was
strong. Or possibly you had seen her before you hid behind the pedestal.
Had you, Mr. Travis? She was a charming child; perhaps you had been
attracted by her beauty before you even entered the galleries."

Instantly the man was another being.

"You are right," he acquiesced with undue alacrity. "I had seen her
crossing the court. Her beauty was heavenly. I am a gentleman, but I
followed her. When she moved, I moved; and when she went upstairs, I
followed her. But I would not offend. I kept behind,--far behind
her,--and when she entered the gallery on one side, I took pains to enter
it on the other. This is