old friend I cannot say. I only know that Mr.
Benjamin accompanied him when he came here."

This brief explanation was quite enough for me--I understood what had
happened. Eustace would easily frighten simple old Benjamin about my
absence from the hotel; and, once alarmed, Benjamin would be persuaded
without difficulty to repeat the few words which had passed between us
on the subject of Major Fitz-David. My husband's presence in the Major's
house was perfectly explained. But his extraordinary conduct in leaving
the room at the very time when I was just recovering my senses still
remained to be accounted for. Major Fitz-David looked seriously
embarrassed when I put the question to him.

"I hardly know how to explain it to you," he said. "Eustace has
surprised and disappointed me."

He spoke very gravely. His looks told me more than his words: his looks
alarmed me.

"Eustace has not quarreled with you?" I said.

"Oh no!"

"He understands that you have not broken your promise to him?"

"Certainly. My young vocalist (Miss Hoighty) told the doctor exactly
what had happened; and the doctor in her presence repeated the statement
to your husband."

"Did the doctor see the Trial?"

"Neither the doctor nor Mr. Benjamin has seen the Trial. I have locked
it up; and I have carefully kept the terrible story of your connection
with the prisoner a secret from all of them. Mr. Benjamin evidently
has his suspicions. But the doctor has no idea, and Miss Hoighty has no
idea, of the true cause of your fainting fit. They both believe that you
are subject to serious nervous attacks, and that your husband's name is
really Woodville. All that the truest friend could do to spare Eustace
I have done. He persists, nevertheless, in blaming me for letting you
enter my house. And worse, far worse than this, he persists in declaring
the event of to-day has fatally estranged you from him. 'There is an end
of our married life,' he said to me, 'now she knows that I am the man
who was tried at Edinburgh for poisoning my wife!"'

I rose from the sofa in horror.

"Good God!" I cried, "does Eustace suppose that I doubt his innocence?"

"He denies that it is possible for you or for anybody to believe in his
innocence," the Major replied.

"Help me to the door," I said. "Where is he? I must and will see him!"

I dropped back exhausted on the sofa as I said the words. Major
Fitz-David poured out a glass of wine from the bottle on the table, an