spicions."

I went away from Mr. Crawford's house, and went straight to Florence
Lloyd's. I did this almost involuntarily. Perhaps if I had stopped to
think, I might have realized that it did not devolve upon me to tell
her of Philip Crawford's confession. But I wanted to tell her myself,
because I hoped that from her manner of hearing the story I could learn
something. I still believed that in trying to shield Hall, she had not
yet been entirely frank with me, and at any rate, I wanted to be the one
to tell her of the important recent discovery.

When I arrived, I found Mr. Porter in the library talking with Florence.
At first I hesitated about telling my story before him, and then
I remembered that he was one of the best of Florence's friends and
advisers, and moreover a man of sound judgment and great perspicacity.
Needless to say, they were both amazed and almost stunned by the
recital, and it was some time before they could take in the situation in
all its bearings. We had a long, grave conversation, for the three of
us were not influenced so much by the sensationalness of this new
development, as by the question of whither it led. Of course the
secret was as safe with these two, as with those of us who had heard it
directly from Philip Crawford's lips.

"I understand Philip Crawford's action," said Mr. Porter, very
seriously. "In the first place he was not quite himself, owing to the
sudden shock of seeing his brother dead before his eyes. Also the sight
of his own pistol, with which the deed had evidently been committed,
unnerved him. It was an almost unconscious nervous action which made him
take the pistol, and it was a sort of subconscious mental working that
resulted in his abstracting the will. Had he been in full possession
of his brain faculty, he could not have done either. He did wrong, of
course, but he has made full restitution, and his wrong-doing should not
only be forgiven but forgotten."

I looked at Mr. Porter in unfeigned admiration. Truly he had expressed
noble sentiments, and his must be a broadly noble nature that could show
such a spirit toward his fellow man.

Florence, too, gave him an appreciative glance, but her mind seemed to
be working on the possibilities of the new evidence.

"Then it would seem," she said slowly, "that as I, myself, was in
Uncle's office at about eleven o'clock, and as Uncle Philip was there a
little after one o'clock, whoever killed Uncle Joseph came and went