aking this
horrible story public. Consider, I beg of you, all the circumstances
before you inflict this dreadful sorrow and scandal on an honoured
family."

"It is because I have to consider all the circumstances that I have no
option."

"Is there no other way?" persisted Musard. "He is mad. He must have been
possessed. You heard his story; his hallucinations were those of an
insane person. He had some justification. He would never have committed
this terrible deed of his own free will."

Colwyn did not reply. It was useless to point out that there is no such
thing as free will in human affairs, and that if Philip Heredith had
been impelled to his crime by the evil force of passions which were
stronger than the restraining power of human reason, he must pay the
full price demanded by humanity for the only safeguard of its supremacy.

There was the sound of an opening door and footsteps outside, and a
voice called:

"Phil! Vincent! Where are you?"

"They have returned!" Musard excitedly exclaimed. "What are they to be
told?"

"I cannot say," replied Colwyn, casting a sombre glance at Phil's
drooping and motionless figure.

There was something new in his posture--a stark stillness which arrested
his eye. He stepped quickly to his side and bent over him.

"He is dead," he said.

"Dead? My God! Impossible!"

"It is quite true. It is better so."

"Vincent!" Miss Heredith's voice sounded not far away.

"She is coming here. Quick, what am I to say to her?"

"I cannot tell you," responded Colwyn, with another glance at the still
form. "It was he who called me in to solve this mystery, and I have done
what he asked. I will leave you to tell her what you will, but I cannot
keep silence afterwards where the liberty of innocent people is
involved. Justice is as impersonal as Truth herself."

"Vincent!" This time the voice sounded just outside the door.

"I must stop her--she must not come in here," said Musard, starting up.

But he was too late. The door opened, and Miss Heredith stood in the
doorway.

Her startled eyes took in the agitated face of Musard, and then
travelled to the drooping attitude of the figure at the table. She went
quickly past the two men, and bent over her nephew. As she did so, she
sobbed aloud. All the pity and pathos of a woman, all the misery and
mystery of a broken heart, welled forth in her faint mournful cry.

"This will kill her," said Musard savagely.

But Colwyn felt that