sent to him. Otherwise, she threatened that
mother should have no rest. What could I do? It was the only way to
save ourselves. Well, I promised to go upon the stage, for this
woman fancied she discovered some talent in me. Why, Jasper, how
strangely you are looking!"

"Tell me--tell me," I cried, "who is this woman?"

"You ought to know that, for you were in the box with her during most
of the first night of 'Francesca.'"

A horrible, paralysing dread had seized me.

"Her name, and his? Quick--tell me, for God's sake!"

"Colliver. He is called Simon Colliver. But, Jasper, what is it?
What--"

I took the chain and Golden Clasp and handed them to Claire without
speech.

"Why, what is this?" she cried. "He has a piece exactly like this,
the fellow to it; I remember seeing it when I was quite small.
Oh, speak! what new mystery, what new trouble is this?"

"Claire, Colliver is here in London, or was but a week ago."

"Here!"

"Yes, Claire; and it was he that murdered Thomas Loveday."

"Murdered Thomas Loveday! I do not understand." She had turned
a deathly white, and spread out her hands as if for support.
"Tell me--"

"Yes, Claire," I said, as I stepped to her, and put my arm about her;
"it is truth, as I stand here. Colliver, your mother's husband,
foully murdered my innocent friend for the sake of that piece of
gold; and more, Simon Colliver, for the sake of this same accursed
token, murdered my father!"

"Your father!"

She shook off my arm, and stood facing me there, by Tom's grave, with
a look of utter horror that froze my blood.

"Yes, my father; or stay, I am wrong. Though Colliver prompted, his
was not the hand that did the deed. That he left to a poor wretch
whom he afterwards slew himself--one Railton--John Railton."

"What!"

"Why, Claire, Claire! What is it? Speak!"

"I am Janet Railton!"

CHAPTER VIII.

TELLS HOW THE CURTAIN FELL UPON "FRANCESCA: A TRAGEDY."

For a moment I staggered back as though buffeted in the face, then,
as our eyes met and read in each other the desperate truth, I sprang
forward just in time to catch her as she fell. Blindly, as if in
some hideous trance, reeling and stumbling over the graves, I carried
her in my arms to the cemetery gate and stood there panting and
bewildered.

Cold and white as marble she lay in my arms, so that for one terrible
moment I thought her dead. "Better so," my heart had cried, and then
I laughed aloud