I never could imagine her as having anything to do with its actual
performance. Oh, no! oh, no! whatever was done on that dreadful night,
Mary Leavenworth never put hand to pistol or ball, or even stood by
while they were used; that you may be sure of. Only the man who loved
her, longed for her, and felt the impossibility of obtaining her by any
other means, could have found nerve for an act so horrible."

"Then you think----"

"Mr. Clavering is the man? I do: and oh, sir, when you consider that he
is her husband, is it not dreadful enough?"

"It is, indeed," said I, rising to conceal how much I was affected by
this conclusion of hers.

Something in my tone or appearance seemed to startle her. "I hope and
trust I have not been indiscreet," she cried, eying me with something
like an incipient distrust. "With this dead girl lying in my house, I
ought to be very careful, I know, but----"

"You have said nothing," was my earnest assurance as I edged towards the
door in my anxiety to escape, if but for a moment, from an atmosphere
that was stifling me. "No one can blame you for anything you have
either said or done to-day. But"--and here I paused and walked hurriedly
back,--"I wish to ask one question more. Have you any reason, beyond
that of natural repugnance to believing a young and beautiful woman
guilty of a great crime, for saying what you have of Henry Clavering, a
gentleman who has hitherto been mentioned by you with respect?"

"No," she whispered, with a touch of her old agitation.

I felt the reason insufficient, and turned away with something of the
same sense of suffocation with which I had heard that the missing key
had been found in Eleanore Leavenworth's possession. "You must excuse
me," I said; "I want to be a moment by myself, in order to ponder over
the facts which I have just heard; I will soon return "; and without
further ceremony, hurried from the room.

By some indefinable impulse, I went immediately up-stairs, and took my
stand at the western window of the large room directly over Mrs. Belden.
The blinds were closed; the room was shrouded in funereal gloom, but
its sombreness and horror were for the moment unfelt; I was engaged in
a fearful debate with myself. Was Mary Leavenworth the principal, or
merely the accessory, in this crime? Did the determined prejudice of Mr.
Gryce, the convictions of Eleanore, the circumstantial evidence even of
such facts as had come to our knowledge, preclude th