o, sir."

"Took nothing out?"

"No, sir."

"Then or when you unharnessed your horse, or afterward, as you passed
back to the house?"

"No, sir."

"What path did you take in returning to the house?"

"There is only one."

"Did you walk straight through it?"

"As straight as I could. It was snowing heavily, and I was dizzy and felt
strange, I may have zigzagged a little."

"Did you zigzag enough to go back of the stable?"

"Oh, no."

"You are sure that you did not wander in back of the stable?"

"As sure as I can be of anything."

"Miss Cumberland, I have but a few more questions to ask. Will you look
at this portion of a broken bottle?"

"I see it, sir."

"Will you take it in your hand and examine it carefully?"

She reached out her hand; it was trembling visibly and her face expressed
a deep distress, but she took the piece of broken bottle and looked at it
before passing it back.

"Miss Cumberland, did you ever see that bit of broken glass before?"

She shook her head. Then she cast a quick look at her brother, and seemed
to gain an instantaneous courage.

"No," said she. "I may have seen a whole bottle like that, at some time
in the club-house, but I have no memory of this broken end--none at all."

"I am obliged to you, Miss Cumberland. I will trouble you no more
to-day."

Then he threw up his head and smiled a slow, sarcastic smile at
Mr. Moffat.

XXXII

AND I HAD SAID NOTHING!

O my soul's joy!
If after every tempest come such calms
May the winds blow till they have wakened death!

_Othello_.

I had always loved her; that I knew even in the hour of my darkest
suspicion--but now I felt free to worship her. As the thought penetrated
my whole being, it made the night gladsome. Whatever awaited her,
whatever awaited Arthur, whatever awaited me, she had regenerated me. A
change took place that night in my whole nature, in my aspect of life and
my view of women. One fact rode triumphant above all other considerations
and possible distresses. Fate--I was more inclined now to call it
Providence--had shown me the heart of a great and true woman; and I was
free to expend all my best impulses in honouring her and loving her,
whether she ever looked my way again, received or even acknowledged a
homage growing out of such wrong as I had done her and her unfortunate
sister. It set a star in my firmament. It turned down all the ill-written
and besmirched leaves in my book of life and