He neither knew
the woman's name, nor where she was to be found. The coroner inquired,
with a touch of irony, if the jury wished the inquest to be adjourned,
under existing circumstances.

For the sake of appearances, the jury consulted together. But the
luncheon-hour was approaching; the servant's evidence was undeniably
clear and conclusive; the coroner, in summing up, had requested them not
to forget that the deceased had lost her temper with the servant, and
that an angry woman might well make a mistake which would be unlikely
in her cooler moments. All these influences led the jury irrepressibly,
over the obstacles of obstinacy, on the way to submission. After a
needless delay, they returned a verdict of "death by misadventure." The
secret of Mrs. Farnaby's suicide remained inviolate; the reputation of
her vile husband stood as high as ever; and the future life of Amelius
was, from that fatal moment, turned irrevocably into a new course.

CHAPTER 3

On the conclusion of the proceedings, Mr. Melton, having no further
need of Amelius or the lawyer, drove away by himself. But he was too
inveterately polite to omit making his excuses for leaving them in a
hurry; he expected, he said, to find a telegram from Paris waiting at
his house. Amelius only delayed his departure to ask the landlady if
the day of the funeral was settled. Hearing that it was arranged for the
next morning, he thanked her, and returned at once to the cottage.

Sally was waiting his arrival to complete some purchases of mourning for
her unhappy mother; Toff's wife being in attendance to take care of
her. She was curious to know how the inquest had ended. In answering
her question, Amelius was careful to warn her, if her companion made
any inquiries, only to say that she had lost her mother under very sad
circumstances. The two having left the cottage, he instructed Toff to
let in a stranger, who was to call by previous appointment, and to close
the door to every one else. In a few minutes, the expected person,
a young man, who gave the name of Morcross, made his appearance, and
sorely puzzled the old Frenchman. He was well dressed; his manner was
quiet and self-possessed--and yet he did not look like a gentleman. In
fact, he was a policeman of the higher order, in plain clothes.

Being introduced to the library, he spread out on the table some sheets
of manuscript, in the handwriting of Amelius, with notes in red ink on
the margin, made by