e more
in the Mellor drive; Aldous Raeburn and Marcella stood in front of him;
the thrill of the moment beat once more in his pulse.

He buried his head in his hands and thought. The news of the murder had
reached him from Mr. Boyce. The master of Mellor had heard the news from
William, the man-servant, at half-past seven, and had instantly knocked
up his guest, by way of sharing the excitement with which his own feeble
frame was throbbing.

"By Gad! I never heard such an _atrocious_ business," said the invalid,
his thin hand shaking against his dressing-gown. "That's what your
Radical notions bring us to! We shall have them plundering and burning
the country houses next."

"I don't think my Radical notions have much to do with it," said
Wharton, composedly.

But there was a red spot in his cheeks which belied his manner. So when
he--_they_--saw Hurd cross the avenue he was on his way to this deed of
blood. The shot that he, Wharton, had heard had been the shot which slew
Westall? Probably. Well, what was the bearing of it? Could she keep her
own counsel or would they find themselves in the witness box? The idea
quickened his pulse amazingly.

"Any clue? Any arrests?" he asked of his host. "Why, I told you," said
Boyce, testily, though as a matter of fact he had said nothing. "They
have got that man Hurd. The ruffian has been a marked man by the keepers
and police, they tell me, for the last year or more. And there's my
daughter has been pampering him and his wife all the time, and
_preaching_ to me about them! She got Raeburn even to take him on at the
Court. I trust it will be a lesson to her."

Wharton drew a breath of relief. So the man was in custody, and there
was other evidence. Good! There was no saying what a woman's conscience
might be capable of, even against her friends and herself.

When Mr. Boyce at last left him free to dress and make his preparations
for the early train, by which the night before, after the ladies'
departure for the ball, he had suddenly made up his mind to leave
Mellor, it was some time before Wharton could rouse himself to action.
The situation absorbed him. Miss Boyce's friend was now in imminent
danger of his neck, and Miss Boyce's thoughts must be of necessity
concentrated upon his plight and that of his family. He foresaw the
passion, the _saeva indignatio_, that she must ultimately throw--the
general situation being what it was--into the struggle for Hurd's life.
Whatever