that Sir Felix, a transparently simple person, was
labouring under some curious form of excitement. He stammered as he
tried to answer, and looked at her furtively. He dropped his riding
whip, which he was carrying in his hands, stooped to look for it and
came up rather apologetic and more nervous than before.

"The fact is ... I came over, Lady O'Gara ... to ... to ..."

"Is anything the matter, Sir Felix?"

Down went her heart like a plummet of lead. _Shawn!_ Had anything
happened to Shawn? Had this stammering, purple-faced gentleman come to
prepare her? Her heart gave a cry of anguish, while her eyes rested
with apparent calmness on Sir Felix's unhappy face. Of course it was
Mustapha. Would he never speak? Why could they not have found a
better messenger than this unready inarticulate gentleman?

At last the cry was wrung from her: "Has anything happened to my
husband?"

"No! God bless my soul,--no!"

Her heart lifted slightly with the relief and fell again. She had been
frightened and had not got over the shock.

"It is a perfectly absurd business, Lady O'Gara. Your husband will--I
have no doubt"--he emitted a perfectly unnatural chuckle--"be immensely
amused. I should not have mentioned it ... I should have shown the
ruffian the door, only that new District Inspector ... Fury ... a very
good name for him ... mad as a hatter, I should say ... brought the
fellow to me."

"What is it all about, Sir Felix?" asked Lady O'Gara, in a voice of
despair.

"My dear lady, have I been trying you? I'm sorry." Sir Felix pulled
himself together by a manifest effort.

"I apologize for even telling you such a thing, though I don't believe
one word of it. The fellow was obviously drunk and so I told D.I.
Fury. I absolutely refused to swear him, but I had to issue a summons.
Yes, yes, I'm coming to it now! Don't be impatient, my dear lady. A
low drunken tramp went to the police with a ridiculous story that your
husband was privy to the death of young Terence Comerford, poor fellow!
Ridiculous! when every one knows there was the love of brothers between
them. The ruffian maintains that he was on the spot,--that your
husband and Comerford were quarrelling, that your husband struck him
repeatedly, he not being in a way to defend himself, finally that he
lashed the horse, a young and very spirited horse who would not take
the whip, saying: 'You'll never reach home alive, Terence Comerford!
You've forced