l parties to the crime will give us what we want. I will tell you
what I will do," he suddenly cried. "Miss Leavenworth has desired me to
report to her; she is very anxious for the detection of the murderer,
you know, and offers an immense reward. Well, I will gratify this desire
of hers. The suspicions I have, together with my reasons for them, will
make an interesting disclosure. I should not greatly wonder if they
produced an equally interesting confession."

I could only jump to my feet in my horror.

"At all events, I propose to try it. Eleanore is worth that much risk
any way."

"It will do no good," said I. "If Mary is guilty, she will never confess
it. If not----"

"She will tell us who is."

"Not if it is Clavering, her husband."

"Yes; even if it is Clavering, her husband. She has not the devotion of
Eleanore."

That I could but acknowledge. She would hide no keys for the sake of
shielding another: no, if Mary were accused, she would speak. The future
opening before us looked sombre enough. And yet when, in a short time
from that, I found myself alone in a busy street, the thought that
Eleanore was free rose above all others, filling and moving me till my
walk home in the rain that day has become a marked memory of my life.
It was only with nightfall that I began to realize the truly critical
position in which Mary stood if Mr. Gryce's theory was correct. But,
once seized with this thought, nothing could drive it from my mind.
Shrink as I would, it was ever before me, haunting me with the direst
forebodings. Nor, though I retired early, could I succeed in getting
either sleep or rest. All night I tossed on my pillow, saying over to
myself with dreary iteration: "Something must happen, something will
happen, to prevent Mr. Gryce doing this dreadful thing." Then I would
start up and ask what could happen; and my mind would run over various
contingencies, such as,--Mr. Clavering might confess; Hannah might come
back; Mary herself wake up to her position and speak the word I had more
than once seen trembling on her lips. But further thought showed me how
unlikely any of these things were to happen, and it was with a brain
utterly exhausted that I fell asleep in the early dawn, to dream I saw
Mary standing above Mr. Gryce with a pistol in her hand. I was awakened
from this pleasing vision by a heavy knock at the door. Hastily rising,
I asked who was there. The answer came in the shape of an envelope
thrust