r's face satisfied me that nothing of such importance had
transpired. He looked not only tired, but a trifle annoyed.

"Miss Leavenworth," said he, turning again in her direction; "you have
declared that you did not visit your uncle's room last evening. Do you
repeat the assertion?"

"I do."

He glanced at Mr. Gryce, who immediately drew from his breast a
handkerchief curiously soiled. "It is strange, then, that your
handkerchief should have been found this morning in that room."

The girl uttered a cry. Then, while Mary's face hardened into a sort of
strong despair, Eleanore tightened her lips and coldly replied, "I
do not see as it is so very strange. I was in that room early this
morning."

"And you dropped it then?"

A distressed blush crossed her face; she did not reply.

"Soiled in this way?" he went on.

"I know nothing about the soil. What is it? let me see."

"In a moment. What we now wish, is to know how it came to be in your
uncle's apartment."

"There are many ways. I might have left it there days ago. I have told
you I was in the habit of visiting his room. But first, let me see if it
is my handkerchief." And she held out her hand.

"I presume so, as I am told it has your initials embroidered in the
corner," he remarked, as Mr. Gryce passed it to her.

But she with horrified voice interrupted him. "These dirty spots! What
are they? They look like--"

"--what they are," said the coroner. "If you have ever cleaned a pistol,
you must know what they are, Miss Leavenworth."

She let the handkerchief fall convulsively from her hand, and stood
staring at it, lying before her on the floor. "I know nothing about it,
gentlemen," she said. "It is my handkerchief, but--" for some cause she
did not finish her sentence, but again repeated, "Indeed, gentlemen, I
know nothing about it!"

This closed her testimony.

Kate, the cook, was now recalled, and asked to tell when she last washed
the handkerchief?

"This, sir; this handkerchief? Oh, some time this week, sir," throwing a
deprecatory glance at her mistress.

"What day?"

"Well, I wish I could forget, Miss Eleanore, but I can' t. It is the
only one like it in the house. I washed it day before yesterday."

"When did you iron it?"

"Yesterday morning," half choking over the words.

"And when did you take it to her room?"

The cook threw her apron over her head. "Yesterday afternoon, with the
rest of the clothes, just before dinner. Indade,