I had had them,
on the honesty of those eyes, that had led me like a will-o'-the-wisp in
the ball-room half a year ago! The new-year's dance came back on me as I
stood there--my ball-dress was in the drawer up-stairs--and now! oh
dear! was I going mad?

CHAPTER III.

THE TIME OF TRIAL.

Meanwhile he was waiting for my answer. I stepped forward, intending to
take his hand, but the stains drove me back again. Where so much depends
upon a right--or a mis-understanding, the only way is to speak the fair
truth. I did so; by a sort of forced calm holding back the seething of
my brain.

"George, I should like to touch you, but--I cannot! I beg you to forgive
the selfishness of my grief--my mind is confused--I shall be better
soon. God has sent us a great sorrow, in which I know you are
as innocent as I am. I am very sorry--I think that is all." And I put my
hand to my head, where a sharp pain was beginning to throb. Mr. Manners
spoke, emphatically--

"God bless you, Dorolice! You know I promised. Thank you, for
ever!"

"If you fancy you have any reason to thank me," I said, "do me this
favour. Whatever happens, believe that I believe!"

I could bear no more, so I went out of the kitchen. As I went I heard a
murmur of pity run through the room, and I knew that they were
pitying--not the dead man, but me; and me--not for my dead brother, but
for his murderer. When I got into the passage, the mist that had still
been dark before my eyes suddenly became darker, and I remember no more.

When my senses returned, Harriet had come home. From the first she would
never hear George's name except to accuse him with frantic bitterness of
poor Edmund's death; and as nothing would induce me to credit his guilt,
the subject was as much as possible avoided. I cannot dwell on those
terrible days. I was very ill for some time, and after I had come
down-stairs, one day I found a newspaper containing the following
paragraph, which I copy here, as it is the shortest and least painful
way of telling you the facts of poor Edmund's death.

"THE MURDER AT CROSSDALE HALL.

"Universal horror has been excited in the neighbourhood by the murder of
Edmund Lascelles, Esq., of Crossdale Hall. Mr. Lascelles was last seen
alive a little after ten o'clock on Friday night, at which time he left
the house alone, and was not seen again living. At the inquest on
Saturday, James Crosby, a farm labourer, gave the following evidence:--

"'I had