CHAPTER VII. IN THE NURSERY. A TERRIBLE, SECRET,

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 389, 31 July 1889, Page 3

CHAPTER VII. IN THE NURSERY.

A TERRIBLE, SECRET,

BY MAY AGNES FLEMING,

Author of 'Guy Earlscourt's Wife,' '•A Wonderful Woman, 1 *A Mad . Marriage,' Etc

She stands for a moment paralysed — struck dumb by a horror too great ,for word to cry. Then she rushes to the door, along the passages, into the midst of the startled household like a mad creature, shrieking that one most awful word, • Murder !' They flock around her, they catch hold of her, and keep her still by main force. They ask her questions, but she only screams still that ghastly word, • Murder !' * Who is murdered? Where — what do you mean? Good Lord! young woman,' Cries Mr Hooper, the butler, giving her a shake, rdo come out of these hysterics if you can, and speak ! Who's murdered?' ■ ' 'My lady ! oh, my lady ! my lady ! my lady-!' She is like a creature distraught. There is blood on her right hand ; she sees it, ■and with a gasping cry at the grisly pight, and before they know what she is about, she falls down in a faint in their midst. They lift her up ; they look into one another's pale fac6s. . - .'My ladyj' they repeat in an awe-struck whisper. • 21 ur dared !' 'Here!' cries Mr Hooper, his dignity coming f>o his aid," ' let us investigate this here. Lay this young woman flat on her back on the floor, ' sprinkle her with waier, and let her come to. I'm going to fipd out what she means.' .They lay poor Ellen stiffly out as directed, someone dashes water into her -face, then in a body, with Mr Hooper at their head, they, march off to investigate. / SKe wa.s in the d,ay-nureery,' Nurse Pool suggests, in a whisper, and to the daynursery they go. '< On the threshold.for a second or two they halt^' their, courage- failing. But there is nothing very terrifying. Only the solemn moonlight, only the motionless litt\e figure in the arm-chair. And yet a great ,awe holds, them back. Does death — does" murder, stand grisly in their midst ? v - * Let us go in, in the name of Providence,' say 3 Mr Hooper, a tremble in his voice j ' it —it can't be .what she says. O good Lord, no!' - v . They go forward on tiptoe, as if afraid of awakening that "quiet sleeper whom otily the last trump ViU'ever awake jnow. Tihey" bend above her,;h'olding their breath. Yes, there it is— the blood that ' is soaking her dress, dripping horribly on the carpet — oozing slowly from that cruel wound. A gasping, inarticulate sort ' of groan comes heavily from every lip. Old Hooper takes her wrist between his shaking fingers. Stilled'for ever, already with' the awful chill of death. " In the crystal light of the inoonthe sweet young face has never looked fairer, calmer, more peaceful than now. The old "butler straightens himself up, ashen grey. c It's too true,' he says with a sort of sob. ' O Lord, have mercy on us — it's too true ! • She's dead !* She's murdered 1' He drops, the wrist he -holds, the little, jewelled, dead hand falls limp and heavy. He puts his own .hands over his face and sobs aloud : * Who will tell Sir- Victor ? O my master ! my dear young master V No one speaks — a spell of preat Horror has fallen upon them. Murdered in their midst,, in their peaceful household— they cannot comprehend it. At last. — ' Where is Miss Calheron V asks a sombre voice.'. No one knows who speaks ; no one seems to care ; no one dare reply. 1 Where is Inez Catheron ?' the voice says - again. Something in the tone, something in the ghastly silence that follows, seems to arouse the butler. 'Since his ! tenth year he has been in the service of the Catherons— his father before him was butler in this house. Their honour is his. He starts angrily round now. 1 Who was that ?' he demands. 'Of course Aliss'lnez knows .nothing of this.' No one had accused her, bub he is unconsciously defending her already. 'She must be told ab once,' h& says. •I'll go and tell her myself. Edwards, draw the curtains, will you; and light the candles.' He leaves, the room. The valet mechanically does as he is bid— the curtains aie drawn, the waxlights illumine the apartment. No one else stirs. The soft, abundant light falls down upon that tranquil, marble face — upon that most awful stain of blood. The butler goes straight ti£ to .his young lady's room. Wayward, passionate, proud Miss Inez may be, but she is very dear to him. He has carried her -in his arms many a time, a little laughing, black-eyed, child. A vague, sickening fear fills him now. 'She hated my lady,' he thinks, in a dazed, helpless sorb of way ; ' everybody knows that. What will she &ay when she hears this V He knocks ; there is no reply. He knocks again and calls huskily : ' Miss Inez, are,yo,n there ? For the dear Lord's sake open the door !' ' Come in '.' a voice answers. He cannot tell whether it is Miss Inez or not. He opens the door and enters. This room is unlit too — the shine of the moon fills it as it fills that other room below. Here too a solitary figure sits, crouches rather,, near the window in a strange, distorted attitude, of pain. He knows the flowing black hair, the scarlet wrap — he cannot see her face, she does not look round. * Miss Inez !'— his voice shakes—' I bring you bad news, awful news. Don't be shocked — but — a, murder has been done.' There is no answer. ' If she hears him she does nob heed. She just sits still and looks j out into the night.' ' i ' Miss Inez ! you hear me ?' He comes a little nearer — he tries to ace her face. * You hear me ?' he repeats. *I hear you.' The words drop like ice from her lips. One hand is clutching the arm of her chair her wide-open black eyes never turn from the night-scene. *My lady is dead — cruelly murdered. O Miss Inez ! do you hear ? — murdered ! What is to be done ?' She does nob answer. Her lips move, bufc no word comes. An awful fear begins to fill the faithful servant's heart. : * Miss Inez !' he cries out, * you must come — they are waiting for you below. There is no one here bub you — Sir Victor is away. Sir Victor — ' His voice breaks ; he takes out his handkerchief and sobs like a child. 'My dear young master ! My dear young master ! He loved the very ground \ she walked on. Oh, who is to tell him \ this V ',\ She rises slowly now, like one who is -Wampcd, and stiff," and cold. She looks at , \he' old man. In her eyes' there is a *md, dazed sort of horror— on her lace

there is a ghnstliness no words can de-< scribe. •.Who is to tell Sir Victor,' the bubler repeats. ''It will kill him— the horror of ib. So- pretty and so young — so sweet and so good. Oh, -how could they do it— how could they do it V , She tries to speak once more — it seems as though her white lips cannot shape the words. Old Hooper looks up at her piteously. ' Tell us what is to be done, Miss Inez,' he implores, ' you are mistress here now.' She shrinks as if he, had struck her. 1 Shall' we send for Sir Victor first ?' ' Yes,' she says in a sort of whisper, • send | for Sir Victor first.' The voice in which she speaks is not the voice ofl nez Catheron. . The butler looks ' afc her, that fear in hip eyes. , ' You haven'tseen her, Misslnez,' he says. 1 It is,a fearful sight— but— will you, come | down f He almost dreads a refusal," but she does I nob retuse. The servants stand huddled together in the centre of the room. ' It lies there, in its dreadful, quiet, before them. ' Every eye 'turns darkly, upon Miss Catheion as she comes in. She never sees them. She^advancos like ,a sleep-walker, that dazed, i dumb, horror still in her eyes, the whiteness of death on her lace. She walks over and looks down upon the dead mistress of Catheron Royals. No change comes over her — she softens neither into pity nor teai-s. So long she stands there, so rigid she looks, so thi-eatening are the eyes that watch her, that Hooper interposes his portly figure between her and them. 'JMiss Inez/ he says, 'will you please srive your orders ? Shall I send for Sir Victor at once, or — ' ' Yes, send for Sir Victor at once.' She arouses herself to say it. ' And I think" you had better send to Chesholmy for a doctor and — and the police.' 4 The police !' ' A murder has been committed,' she says, in a cold, hard voice ; ' the murdorer must be, found.' jSomething of her old, calm, stately haughtiness returns as she speaks. 'This room must be cleared. Let no one- touch her,' she shudders and 'looks, away, * until Sir Victor comes. Ellen, Pool, Hooper, you three had better remain ,to /watch. Edwards, mount the fastest horse in the stables and ride to Powyss Place for your life.' -* Yes, miss,' Edwards answers, in a low voice ; ' and please, miss, am I to tell Sir ! Victor V I .She hesitates a moment — her face changes, Her voice shakes a littlo for the first time. 1 y'Y'es,' she answers, faintly, ' tell him,' , Edwards leaves the room. She turns to anoth.er.of the men servants. ' You" will ride to Ghesholm and fetch Dr. Dane. On, your way stop at the police station and apprise them. The rest of you go. Jane Pool, where is the baby V ' Upstairs -in the night nursery,' Jane Pool answers sullenly. • And crying, too — I hear him. Hannah,' to the under nurse, 'go and remain with him. -I am going to my own room. When,' she pauses a second and speaks with an effort,.' when |3ir Victor comes, you will .receive your further orders from him. I can do nothing more. ' She left the room. Jane Pool looked ominously after her. •No," she said, between her set _ lips : ! yc-ii have done enough.' ' Oh, Jane, hush !' Ellen whispers in terror. ' There has still been no direct accusation, but they understand each other perfectly. • When the time comes to speak, you'll see whether I'll hush,' retorts Jane. 'What was she doing in this room fifteen minutes before you found my lady dead ? Why wouldn't she let me in ? why did she tell me a lie ? what made her say my lady was still asleep? Asleep! Oh, poor soul, to think of her being murdered here,' while we were all enjoying ourselves 1 below. And if I. hadn't took away the baby it's my opinion it would have been J 'Oh, Jane!' ' " Oh, Jane," as much as you please, it's the gospel truth. Them that killed the mother hated the child. When the time comes I'll speak, if she was twice the lady she is, Ellen !' ' Lor'!' Ellen cried with a nervous jump, 'don't speak so jerky, Mrs Pool. You make my blood a mass of ice. What is it ?' ' Ellen,' Jane Pool said solemnly, ' where is the dagger ?' • What dagger V ' The furrin dagger with the gold handle and the big ruby set in it, that my lady used as a paper knife. I'll take my oath, I saw it lying on the table there, shining in the moonlight, when I took away baby. Where is it now ?' The dagger the nurse spoke of was a curious Eastern knife that had belonged to Sir Victor's mother. It had' a long, keen steel blade, a slim handle of wrought gold set with a large ruby. Sir Victor's wife had taken a fancy to the pretty Syrian toy, and converted it into a paper knife. ' I saw it on that there table, when I took away baby,' Jane said compressing her lips; lit would do it. Where is it now ?' ' Gone,' Ellen answered. 'Oh, Jane do you think — ' 'She has been stabbed, you see, right through the heart, and there isn't much blood. That devilish little glittering knife has done the deed. There ib was ready for its work, as if Satan himself had left it I handy. Oh, poor lady — poor lady ! to think that the coy she used to play with should one day take her life !' While they whispered in the death room', up in her chamber, while the hours of the dreary night wore on, Inez Cathei'on sat, crouched in a heap, as Hooper had found her, her face hidden "in her hands. Two hours had passed, an awful silence filled the whole house, while she sat there and never stirred. As eleven struck from the turret clock, the thunder of horses' hoofs on the avenue below, came to her , dulled ears. A great shudder shook her from head to foot — she lifted her 'haggard , face. The lull before the storm was over— 5 Sir Victor Catheron had come.

IN" THE DARKNESS. Half an hour's rapid gallop had brought Edwards, the valet, to Powyss Palace. The stately mansion, park, lawn and terraces, lay bathed in the silvery shower of moonlight. From" the upper windows, wh«re the sick man lay, lights streamed ; all the rest of the house was in deep shadow. In one of those dimly-lighted rooms Sir Victor Catheron lay upon a lounge fast asleep. He had remained for about two hours by the sick man's bedside ; then, persuaded by his, aunt, had gone to lie down in an inner apartment. ' You look-pale and ill yourself,' she had said, tenderly; 'lie down and rest fora little. If I need you, I 'will call you at once.' He had obeyed, and had dropped off into a heavy sleep. A dull oppression of heart and soul beset him ; he had no mind to slumber — it had come upon him unawares. He was awakened suddenly by someone calling his name. 'Victor! Victor!' the voice called, ' awake !' He sat up with a bewildered face. Was that his aunt's voice, so hoarse, so strange

Was this his aunt with that white, horrorstruck face ? ' Victor !' she cried, the words a very wail. ' Oh, my boy, Imy boy ! how shall I i ever tell you ? Oh, why did 1 aend for >you this dreadful night?, Ethel'— her voice^ choked. <. „' > * He rose to his feet, staving at her blankly. • Ethel,' he repeated. * Ethol-* She covered her face with her hands and burst mto «a hysterical, outbreak of tears, Edwards, standing behind her in the door- j way, made a step forward. ' Tell him, Edwards,' said Lady Helena. * I .cannot. ■It seems tpo horrible to tell dr , to believe. Oh, my poor Victor ! my poor, poor boy.' ' . . Edwards came forward reluctantly, with a very pale, .scared face. .' It's dreadful news, Sir Victor — I don't know how to tell you, but my lady, I'm afraid she— she's dead.' • Dead !', » • . He repeated the word dully, staring almost stupidly at.thß speaker. ' Dead, Sir. Victor;' the man repeated, solemnly. ' I'm sore afraid, murdered.' , There was a sudden, headlong rush from the room ; no other reply. Like a flash Sir Victor passed them both. They heard him clear the stairs, rush along the lower hall, and out of" the' house. The next instant the valefe' and"' Lady Helena were in .pursuit. A - . • He was mounted on Edwards' Horse and dashing furiously away before they reached the courb-yarrl. They called to him— he neither heard nor heeded. He dashed his spurred heel into the horse's side and flew out of sight like the wind. ' Follow him I'Xady Helena cried, breathlessly, to the groom. ' Overtake jiini*, for the love of Heaven ! Oh, 1 who can have clone this awiul deed ? Edwai-de, 1 you are sure there Is no mistake? It seems too unnatural, too impossible to believe.' ' There is no. mistake, my lady,' the man answered, sadly. ' I saw her myself, the blood flowing where they had scabbed her, cold and dead.' ' Lady Helena wrung her hands and turned away. i ' Eide for your life after your master !' she' said. ' I will follow you as soon as I can.' She went baok< to her husband's' side. Ha was no worse — he seemed, if anything, bebter. She might leave him in her housekeeper'sdharge until morning. She ordered the 'carriage and Rapidly changed her dress. ' It was about one in t;he morning when . she" "reached 5 Catheron Royals. The tall turrets w«re silvered in the moonlight, the windows spark led'dn the crystal light. The" sweet beauty and peace of the September night lay 'like* a benediction over the earth. And, amid all the silence and sweetness, a foul, a 'most horrible murder had been done. • She encountered Mrs Marsh, the housekeeper, in the hall, her face pale, her eyes red with weeping. Some dim hope that up to this time had upheld her, so that after all there mu/ht be a mistake, died out then. ♦ Oh, Marsh,' she said piteonsly, v it> it true ?' Mrs Marsh's answer was a fresh burst of tears. Like all the rest of the household, the gentle ways, the sweet face, ' and soft voice of Sir Victor's wife had won her heart from the first. ♦It is too true, my lady. The Lord have mercy upon us all. It stems too horrid for belief, but it is true. As she lay asleep there, four hours ago, in her own house, surrounded by her own servants, some monster in human form'^tabbed her thtough the heart— through the heart, my ludy-pDr. Dane says one blow did 'it, and that' death must have been instantaneous. So young, so sweet, and so lovely.- Oh, how could they do it — how could anyone do it ?' Mrs Marsh's sobs grow hysterical. Lady Helena's own tears were flbwing. ' I feel as though I were guilty in some way myself/ the housekeeper went on. 'If we had only woke her up, or fastened the window or anything ! I know the monster, whoever he was, gob in through the window. And, oh, my lady !' — Mrs Marsh wiped her eyes suddenly, and lowered her voice to an excited whisper —J I wish you would speak to Jane Pool, the nurse. She doesn't dare say anything out openly, but the looks she gives and the hints she drops are almost worse than the murder itself. You can sec as clear as day that she suspects—'Miss Inez. * Marsh ! Great Heaven !' Lady Helena cried, recoiling in horror. ' Miss Inez !' 'Oh, my lady, / don't say it — I don't 'think it — Heaven foi'bid. ! — it's only that wicked,- spiteful nurse, Pool. She hates 1 Miss Inez— she has hated her from the first. and she loved my lady. Ah I who could help being fond of her — poor, lovely young lady !—with-,a! — with-, a -sweet smile and v pleasant I word for everyone in the house ? And you know Miss Inez's high, haughty way. Jane 1 Pool hates her, and will do her mischief if she can. A word from you might check .her. !N"o one knows the harm a babbling tongue may do.' Lady Helena drew herself up proudly. ' I shall not say o v ne word to'her, Marsh. Jane -Pool can do my niece no harm. The bare repetition of it is opi insult. MioS Catheron — that I should have to say such a thing !— is above suspicion.'' 'My lady, I believe it ; still, if you would only speak to her. You don't know all. She saw Miss Inez coming out of the nursery a quarter of an hour before we found Lady Catheron dead. She wished to enter, and Miss Inez ordered her away. She has been talking to the police, and I saw that Inspector Darwin watching Miss Inez in a way that made my blood run cold.' But Lady Helena waived the topic away haughtily. 'Be silent, Marsh ! I will not hear another word of this — it is too . horrible ! Where is Miss Inez V _'In her own room, my lady. And — I beg your pardon for alluding to it again — bub I think she suspects. She seemed dazed-like, stupefied at first ; she is more like herself now. Will you not go in and see her, poor soul,' before you goto Miss Inez ? Oh, my lady, my lady ! it breaks my heart when I look at her— when I look at Sir Victor.' For a moment Lady Helena shrank. ' Sir Victor is in there — with her V she faltered. 'Yes, my lady --like a man all struck stupid. It frightens me to see him. If he would only speak, or cry, or fly out against the murderer — but he just sits there as if turning to stone.' His aunt covered her face for an instant with both hands, heart-sick with all these I horrors, then she looked up, and moved f or- ! ward. * Where is she?' she aaked — 'in which room ?' ' In the white drawing-room, my lady ; the doctors brought her there. Sir Victor j is with her, alone.' Lady Helena slowly advanced. At the door she paused ' a moment to nerve herself ) for what she must see ; then she turned the handle and went in. It was on© of the stateliest rooms in the house— all white and gold, and dimly lib now by wax tapers. Lying on one of the white velvet sofas she saw a rigid figure, over which a ? white covering was drawn ; but the golden hair and the fair, marble face gleaming in the waxligbts a3 beautiful as ever in life. „ " He sab beside his dead—almost as motionless, almost as cold, almost as white. He

I had loved her with a love that was akin to I idolatrous— he had grudged that the eye of ( man should rest/on his treasure— and now he sat beside her— dead. ••If he. hoard the door open, he neither moved nor stirred.. He never once looked up a8 his aunt cam© forward ; his eyes were riveted upon that ineffably calm face with a vacant, sightless sort of stare that chilled her blood. 'Victor'!' she cried -out, in a frightened, voice; '"Victor speak to me. 'For pity's sake don't look like that !' The dull, blinded eyes looked up at her, fulLof infinite, unutterable despair. 'She* is dead,' he said, in 'a slow, dragging sort of voice,—' dead ! And last night I left her well and happy — left her to be • murdered — to — be — murdered.' - The slow words fell heavily from his lipa ' — liis eyes went back to her face, his dulled mmd seemed lapsing into its. stupefied trance of quiet. More and more alarmed, his aunt, gazed at him. Had the death of his wife tuvnod his brain ? ' " * Victor 1' she exclaimed, almost angrily, * you must rouse yourself. You must not stay here. 'Be a man! Wake up. Your wife has been murdered. Go and find her murderer;' "' , s * Her murderer,' he replied, in the samo tone of unnatural quiet ; ' her murderer. ,It seems strange, Aunt Holena, doesn't it, that anyorie' could murder her? ',1 must find her murderer.' Oh,' he cried, suddenly, in a vo^oe of anguish : ' what does it matter about her murderer ? 3>. won't bring 'Her 1 back to life. vl She is dead 1 toll you— dead !' . He >flung himself off his chair, on his knees- by the" couch.'' He drew down the white .satin- countei'pane, and pointed to .that Qnet^daTk,' small stab on the left sido. ■ '•Look !' lie said,* in a shrill, wailing voice, ' through, the. heart — through the heart! She did not suffer— the doctors say that. Through- . the heart- as she slept. Oh, my lo\e, my dailing, my wife I' He kissed the, wound- — he 'kissed the hands, the face, the hair. Then with a long, low moan of utter desolation, he drew back the covering and buried his face in it. c Leave me alone,' he said, despairingly.; 'I will not qo — I 'Will never go from hei; again. Sh© was mme 1 in life— mine only. Juan Catheron lied, she i 3 mine in' death. My wife— my Ethel 1' ■ " ' " He started up asjsuddenly as" he had flung himself down, his, ghastly face flaming dark red. ... • < ' L^ave- tnQ'alo'pe, J tell you'! Why do you all come fiatfe V_. I -.will wt go ! Leave me, I coifctafiatad y^u*— I am master here !' She shrank frpuvhim in absolute physical terror. Never, over strong at any time, her worst fears were' indeed true, the shock of his wife's tragkr death "was turning , Sir Victor's brain. There was nothing to be done — nothing to be said — he must be ' obeyed — must be soothpdt 'Dear V;iGtor,'.-she said, £ I will go. Don't be hard with poor Aunt Helena. There is no one in 5 all this world as sorry for, you as I am. Only tell me this before I leave you— shall wq not send for her father and mother ?' ' No/ ho, answered, in the same fierce tone ; ' they carft bring her back to lifo — no one can now. I don't want them. I wont nobody. Ethel i^'niine 1 tell you*-mine alone !' " . - He motioned her imperiously to leave him — a light in his eyd-^a flush on. his face there was no mistaking., S,he weptatonce. How was it all to -enfl.she wondered, more and more sick at heant — this mysterious murder, thib Suspicion against Inez, this dreadful overthrow or her nephew's mind ? 1 May Heaven help us !' she cried. • What have we done that this awful, trouble should come upon us ?' ' Aunt Helena.' She looked round with a little cry. all her nerves trembling and unstrung; Inez stood before her — Inez with dark, resolute eyes, and stony face. ' I have been woibing-ior you— they told me you were 1 there.' She pointed with a shudder 'to the. door. '» 'What are we to do ?' ' ' ; ' Don't ask lue,' Lady' Helena ari&wered, helplessly. ' I don't know. I feel stunned and stupid with all these horrors.' ' The police are here,"Miss Catheron went on, ' and the coroner has Iseen apprised. , 1 suppose they will hold an inquest tomorrow.' , Her aunt looked at herin.surprise. Tho calm, cold tone of her^vpjee grated on her sick heart. ' ' „.,,, ' Have you seen' ''hint ?'* she >asked-almost <in a whisper. ' Inez — J^-fear— *_l fear it is turning his. brain.' * ! Miss Cafcheron's siior.t, sfeornful upper lip curled with the old 'look of contempt. 'The Catheron "brain was never noted for i its strength. I &hall not be surprised at all. Poor wretch !' She turned away and looked out into the darknes3. 'It does seem hard on him.'- ' Who can have done it ?' , The question on every lip rose to Lady Helena's, but somehow, she could not utter it. Did Inez know of tho dark, sinister suspicion again&t herself? Could she know and be calm like this ? ' I forgot to ask for Uncle Godfrey,' Inez's quiet voice said again. 'Of course he i 3 better, or even at such a time as this you would not be here.' ''He is better, Inez,' fshe broke out desperately. ' Who can have done this "> She had not an enemy in tho world. Is— is there anyone suspected ?' ' There is,' Inez answered, turning from the window and facing her aunt. ' The servants suspect we.' • Inez !' ' Their case isn't a bad one as they make it out,' pursued Miss Catberon coolly. 1 ' There was ill blood between us. It is of no use denying it. I hated her, with my whole heart. I* was the last person seen coming out of the room, fifteen minutes before they found her dead. Mane Pool says I refused to let her co in — perhaps I did. It 1b quite likely. About an hour previously we had a violent quarrel. The übiquitous Mrs Pool overheard that also. You sco her case is rather a strong one.' ' Bub— lnez— ! ' I chanced to overhear all this, 3 still went on Miss Catheron, quietly, but with set lips and gleaming eyes. ' Jane Pool was holding forth to the inspector of police. I walked up to them, and they both slunk away like beaten curs. Orders have been issued that no one is to leave the house. To-morrow these facts are to be placed before the coroner's jury. If they find me guilty— don't cry, Aunt Helena — I shall be" sorry for you— sorry I have disgraced a good old name. For the rest, it doesn't much matter what becomes of such a woman as I am.' She turned again to the window and looked out into the darkness. There was a desperate bitterness in her tone that Lady Helena could not understand. « Good Heavens 1' she burst forth, • one would think you were all in a conspiracy to drive me mad. It doesn't matter what becomes of you, doesn't it ? I tell you if this last worst misery falls upon us, it will kill me on the spot ; -just that.' The girl sighed drearily. 'Kill you, Aunt Helena,' she repeated, mournfully. 'No— wedon'D any of ua die bo easily. ' Don'fc bo afraid— l am not likely to talk in this way before anyone but you.

I' am only telling yovi the trubh. They will have the inquest, and all that Jane Pool can say against me will be said. Do you think Victor will be ab.le to appear ?' • I don't' think Victor is* in a condition to appear at an 'inquest or anywhere else. Ah, poor boy ! He lovod her so dearly, it is enough to shake 'the mind of a stronger man.' - . , . , Bub Miss Catheron . was dead silentit was evident ,<her .feelings here were as bitter as ever — that' even the ttagic death of her rival had nob softened her. *He will survive it/, she. answered, in the same half-contemptuous ,tone. .'Men have died and worms ,1m v^ eaten, them, but nob for love.' ' •Inez,' said her' aunt, "suddenly coming a step nearer, 'a rumour has reached me — is it true ?— that Juan is back— that he <ha 3 been here ?' 'It is "quite, true,? her niece answered without turning round ; * he has been here. He was here on the night' Lady Catheron first came.' , * •There is another rumour afloat, that there was a violent quarrel, on that occasion — that he claimed to be an old lover of Ethel's, poor child,' and that Victor burned him out. Since then it is said he ! has been seen more than once prowling about the grounds. For everybody's sake I hope it is hob true.' Inez faced round suddenly — almosb fiercely. 1 And what if I say ib is true, in every respect ? He did come— there was a quarrel, and Victor ordered him out. Since then ,he has been here — prowling, as you call it — trying to see me, trying to force me to give him money. I was flinty as usual, and would give him none. Where is tJhe crime in all that?' ' Has he gone ?' was Lady Helen's response. 'I believe so— l hope so. He had nothing to stay for. Of course he' has gone.' 'I am glad of that, at least. And now, as it seems I can do nothing more at present, I will return home. Watch Victor, Inez — he needs it, believe me. I will return at the earliest possible moment tomorrow.' , So, in thp, chill grey of the fast-coming morning:, Lady Helena, very heavy-hearted, I returned to Pbwyss Place and her sick husi band's bedside. I Meantime matters were really beginning .td look dark , for Miss Cathevon. The superintendent of the district, Mr FerrickV "was '-filling, his note-book with very ominous i information. She bad loved I Sir Victor— she had hated Sir Vie- ' tor's \v\le — they had led a cat-and-dog life from the first — an hour before the;murder they had had a violent quarrel — Lady Cabheron had threatened to make her husf band turn her out of the house on the morrow. At eifjhb o'clock Jane Pool had left the nursery with the baby, my lady peace- ' fully asleep in her chair— the Eastern poniard on the table. At half -past eight, returning to arouse my lady, she had oncountered Miss Inez coming out of the nurs- ! cry, and Miss Inez had ordered her sharply away, telling her my la.dy was still asleep. A quarter ol nine, Ellen, the maid, going to the room, found my lady stone dead, stabbed through the heart. Miss Inez, when summoned by Hooper, is ghastly pale ) at first, and hardly seems to know what she ;is doing or'saying. A very pretty case of tragedy in high life, Superintendent Ferrick tliinks/puising up" his lips with professionaal zest, and' not the first murder jealousy has made fino ladies commit, f el6h'pr. Now if that Tiukish dagger would only burn u p. Two policomen are sent quietly in search of ib through one grounds. It isn't, likely they'll find it, still it will do no harm to try. He finds out which are Miss Catheron's rooms, and keeps his official eye upon them. He goes through the house with the velvet tread of a cat In fcho course of his wanderings everywhere, he brings up presently in the stables,.and finds them nntenanbed, save by one lad, who sits solitary, among the straw. He is rather a dull-looking youth, with a florid, .vacant tace at ) most "times, bub looking dazed and 'anxious' just now. * Something on /m mind,' thinks the superintendent, and &ibs' sociably down on a box beside him at once. -'Now, my man,' Mr Ferrick says, pleasantly, 'and what is itbhab's troubling you ? Out with it— every little's a help in a ca&e like this.' ' The lad—his name is Jimmy— does nob need pressing ; his secreb has been weighing uneasily upon him foi the last hour or more, ever since he heard of the murder, in fact, and he pours his revelation into the superintendent's eager ear. His revelation ■ is this : Last'evening, just about dusk, strolling by chance in the' direction of the Laurel walk, ho heard voices raised and angry in the walk — the voices of a man and a woman. He had peeped through the 'branches and seen my lady and a very ball man. No, it wasn't Sir Victor— ib was a much bigger man, with, long black curling hair. Didn't see his face. It was dark in ,bhere among the breeb. Wasn't sure, but ib struck him ib might be the tall, black-avised man, who came first the night Sir Victor brought homo my lady, and who had been seen skulking aboub the park once or twice since. Had heard a whisper that the man was Miss Inez's brother — didn't know himself. All he did knew was, bhab my lady and a man were quarrelling o« bhe evening of the murder on the Laurel walk. What were they quarrelling aboub ? Well, he couldn't catch bheir talk very well— ib was aboub money he thought. The man wanted money and jewels, and my lady wouldn't give 'em. He threatened to do something or tell something ; then she threatened to have him put in Chesholm gaol if he did. He, Jimmy, though full of curiosity, was afraid the man would spring out and catch him, so at this juncture lie came away. , There ! that was all, if it did the gentleman any good he was welcome to it. ' Ib did bhe gentleman a world of good— it complicated matters beautifully. Five ( minutes ago the case looked dark as night for Miss Cabheron— here was a rifb in her ( sky. Who was bhis man — was it Miss Cabheron's brobher ? Jimmy could tell him nothing more. 'If you wants to find out aboub Miss Inez's brother,' said Jimmy. ' you go to old Hooper. He knows. All / know is, thab they say he was an uncom- | mon bad lob ; bub " old Hooper, he's , knowed him ever since he was a Young 'un and lived here. . If _ old Hoopor says he wasn'b hero the night Sir Victor brought my lady home, don't you believe —he - was, and he's been seen off and on in the grounds since. The women folks in the servants' hall, they say as how he must have been an old sweebhearb of my lady's. You go bo old Hoopor and worrit it out ot him.' Mr Superintendent went. How artfully he began his<work, how delicately and skilfully he 'pumped' old Hooper dry, no words can tell. Mr Juan Catheron was an ' uncommon bad lot,' ho had come to the house and forced an entrance into the din-ing-room the night of Lady Catheron s arrival -- there had been a quarrel, and he had been compelled to leave. Bit by bib this was drawn from Mr Hooper. Since then, Jackson, the -head groom, and Edwards, the valot, had' seen him hovering about the grounds watching the. house.

Mr Ferrick ponders these things in ,his' heart, and is 'still.' This vagabond, Juan Cafcheron, follows, my lady to; Catheron' Royals, is expelled; haurlts the grounds, a»d a man 'answering to' his. description is discovered quarrelling, v with> myladyv demanding money, etc.,*' .two or three hours before, the murder. • The' window 'of the room, in' which she takes that fatal sleep, opens on the lawn ; anyone may enter who sees fit. _No one is about. The Oriental dagger lies convenient to 'his hand'onthe table. 'Here, now,' says Mr Forrick to Mr Forrick, with a reflective frown, ' which is guilty — the brother or sister V _ J He'goesand gives an order to one of his men, , and the man- starts in search of Mr Juan Catheron.' Mr * Gatheron ' must -'be found, though they summon the detectives of Scotland Yard t;o aid in the, search. ' The dull hours "wear op— the new day, sunny and bright, is with them; : The white drawing-room is darkened — the master of- Catheron Royals sits there alone with hisjdead. : And pfesentjy, the coroner comes, and'talks with' the-superintendent, and they enter softly and* -look at the murdered lady. The coroner'departs again a jury is summoned, and the inquest is fixed to begin at noon •- next day in the ' Mibre ' tavern at Chosholfn. Lady Helena returns and'goes at once to her nephew. Inez, in spite of her .injunc-' ( tions, has never been near hinv onoe. He sits there still, as she left him many hours ago ; he has never stirred or spoken since. Left to himself, he is almost apathetic iri his quiet— he rouses into' fury when they strive to take him away. As the dusk falls,' Lady Helena, passing ■ the door," hears him* talking to the dead,' and once— oh, pitiful; Heaven !— she hears a low, blood-chilling 1 laugh. She opens the door and goes in. He is kneeling beside the. sofa,' holding the stark figure in his arms, urging her to gee up and dress. , ' '".. 'It is a lovely night, EEtherl r ' 4 he say's ;■ ' the moon is' shining, and you know you ; .like to walk out on' moonlight nights. D» you remember^ love, those nights at Mar-" gate, when we walked together fir^t on .the' sands ? Ah'! you never lay like this, cold, and still, then. Do get up, .Ethel!' petulantly this ; I am tired of sitting, here and waiting for you to awake. You have slefrt long enough. Get up !' " • He tries to lift her. . Horror struck, Lady Helena catches him in time to prevent it. • Victor, Victor !' she'eries, 4 for the lave of Heaven put her down. Come away. Don't you know she is dead ?' - He lifts his dim eyes t.o her face, blind with the misery of a dumb animal. ' Dead !' he 'whispers. - Then, with a low, moaning gasp, he falls back in her arms, fainting wholly away. , Her cries bring aid— they lift him and* carry him up to his room, undress and place him in bed. " The family physician is summoned—feels his puls>e, hears what Lady Helena has to say, and looks very, grave. The shock has been too much for a, not overstrong body or mind. Sir Victor ism imminent danger of brain fever. ' * J - The night shuts down. A messenger comes to Lady Helena saying the squire i& much better, and' she makes up her mind to remain all night. Inez comes, 'pale and calm, and also takes her place by the ( stricken man's bedside, a great, sadness and pity for the first time on her face. The White Room is locked— Lady Helena keeps the key—one pale light burns dimly in its glittering vastness. And as the night closes in blackness over the doomed house, one of the policemen comes in haste to Superintendent Ferrick, triumph in ,hi?. faco. He has found the daggl . Mr Ferrick opens his eyes ' ,-ather — it is* more than he expected. ' A bunglei-,' he muttors, 'whoever did it. Jones, where did you find tjhis?' Jones explains. • \ Near the entrance gates /there is a wilderness of fern, or bracken, as high -as your waist. Hidden in the midst of this unlikely place Jones has found the dagger. It is as it ,bhe party, going down the avenue, had flung ib in. 'Bungler,' Superintendent Ferrick says again. ' It's bad enough to be a murderer without being a fool.' He takes, the dagger. No doubt about the work it has done. It is in crusted with blood— dry, dark, and clotted up to the •hilt A strong, sure hand had certainly done the deedi For the tfirsfc time . the thought strikes' him— could a woman's handstrike that one strong, sure, deadly blow? Miss Catheron is .a fragile-looking young lady, with a waist he l could span, slim little fingers, and a delicate wrist. Could she strike this blow ?— it is quite evident only one has been struck. ' And besides,' says Superintendent Ferrick, argumentatively to himself, ' it's fifteen minutes' fast walking from the house to the gates. Fifteen minutes only elapsed between the time Nurse Pool sees her com© out of the nursery and Maid Ellen finds<hei" , mistress murdered. And I'll, be sworn, she hadn't been out of the house to-day. All last night they she kept herself shut up v in her room. Suppose she wasn't— suppose &he went out last night and tried to hideit, is it likely— come, I say ! is it likely -she would take and throw it right in the very spot where it was sure to be found ?• A Tartar that young woman is, I have no doubt, but she's a long way oil- being a. fool. She may know toko has done this murder,' bub I'll stake my professional reputatiqn, in spite of Mrs Pool, that she never did it herself/ A thin, drizzling rain comes on with the night, the trees drip, drip in a feeble," melancholy sort of way, the wind has a lugubrious Fob in its voice, and it is intensely dark. It is about nine o'clock, when Miss Catheron rises from her place by the .sick bed and goes out of the room. In the corridor she stands a moment, . witlr the air of one who looks and listens. She sees no one. The dark figure of a woman, who hovers afar 'off and watches hei, is there, buc lost in a shadowy corner ; a woman who, since the murder, has never entirely lost sight of her. Miss Catheron does not see her, she takes up a shawl, wraps it about her, over her head, walks rapidly along the passage, down a back stairway, out ot a side door, little used, and so out into the dark, dripping, sighing night. There are the Chesholm constabulary on guard- on the wot grass and gravel elsewhere — there are none here. But the quiet figure of Jane Pool has followed her, like her shadow, and Jane Pool's face peers cautiously out from the half-open door. In that one instant while she waits, v she mispes her prey — she emerges, but in the darkness nothing is to be seen or heard. As she stands irresolute, she suddenly hears a low, distinct whistle to the left. It may be the call of a night-bird— it may be a signal. She glides to the left, straining her eyes through the gloom. It is many minutes before she can see anything, except the vaguely waving trees— then a fiery ppark, a red eye glows through the night. She has ' run her prey to carth — it is the lighted, tip i of a ci^ar, She draws near — her heart throbs, 5 Dunly she sees tho tall figure of a man ; close to him the slender, slighter figure oil ' woman. They are talking in whispers, anc" '. sho is mortally afraid of .coining too close, I What is to keep them from murdering hei i too - " , . t ' I tell you, you must go, and at once, ' are the first words she hears Inca Gather©!

' speaking, in a passionate, "irit&nse* whisper. * 1 teiryou I am Busp"ecte l dltti r eady ;: do you think you can escape much longer ? If you have any feeling for yourself,- for me, go, go, T -beseech you;-' at' once ! They are. searching for you ' now, I warn you/ an(Hf> they Hod you — V» ".- ' '" ' - .< •<"> *If thoy find me,' the man retorts, dog>, gedly, • it can't be much -worse than it is. 1 Things have been, co black -with me for^ , years that they" can't be much blacker.^ But I'll go. ' I'm not over anxious to stay,c, Lord knows. 'Give me the money and I'll } be off;' -• " J ' " She takes' f rota her bosom a package, and hands it to l him';' by 'the glow of the red cigar-tip,' Jane sees-her. ' ' 'It'is all -I have— all I can'gefc,'. jewels and all,^ she says ; /'enbugh-'to keep you for years with care. go, and never come back — your coming has done evil enough, surely.' " Dane Pool-catches the words — the man mutters some sullen, inaudible reply. , Inez Catheton speaks again in the same passionate voice.' ' How dare" you say so ?' she cries, stamping her foot. * You wretch ! whom it is my bitberesb shame to call brother. But for you she. would be alive arid well. Do •you thipk^l do /nob'know it?" Go - — living , or dead, -I .never, 'want^to look upon your 'face again !' „,.<., ' •'•' "•' 'o iane ; Pdol 'hear&.those terrible words, and s'taWda" paralyse^ % e Oan> ib'bethat Miss Inez is, i ri9t tlie after all ? The 'man tetorts again— 'she' does not hear now ■ —then- plunges inco the' woodland and disappears. '"'An' ihstant the girl stands motionless looking after him, t then she turns and • walks rapidly back into tho house * •..',.-. _ _____ < * • *

CHAPTER IX I FROM THE 'CHESHOIiM COUKIEK. The- Monday morning edition of the * Ches- ' holm Courier, 1 September 19th, 18 — , contained the fallowing, eagerly devoured by levery man and woman in the country, able read at all : t -THE TRAGEDY AT CATHERON ROYALS. ' .'dn all tKe annals of mysterious crime (began the editor, with intense evident relish) nothing more -mysterious, or more awful, has 'ever been known, than the recent tragedy, at Catheron Royals. In the annals of our town, of our county, of our country we may almost say, ifc stands "unparalleled in its . atrocity. A young and lovely lady, wedded little better than a year, holding the very \\ highest position in society, in the sacred privacy of her own household, surrounded by faithful servants, •islstruck down by the-dagger of the assassin. H'eV 'youth;' her' beauty, the sanctity of slumber, all were powerless to shield her. Full of life, and hope, and happiness, she is foully and -hideorisly murdered— her babo left motherless, her young husband bereaved and desolate. If anything were needed to .make the dreadful tragedy yet more dreadff ul, it is, that Sir Victor Catheron lies, as we write,' hovering between life and death. The blow which, struck her- down, has stricken him too -has laid him upon what may be his death-bed. At present he lies mercifully unconscious of his terrible loss tossing, in the. 'delirium" of violent brain 'fever. *..'.*'♦'-* ' - -. 1 Who, we ask, is safe after this? A lady of the very highest rank, in her own home, surrounded by her servants, in open day, is stabbed to the hear.t. Who, we ask-again, is safe after this ?, , Wyho was jfcbe:assassin~'\V\hat,was thVm6tive? Does- this assassin yet lurk in our midst ?> Let it be the work of. the coroner 'and his jury to discover the terrible secret, to bring the wretch to justice. -And ib ia the duty of every man and ivoman in Chesholm to aid, if they can, that discovery.'

I FROM TUESDAYS EDITION. The inquest began at one o'clock yesterday in the parlour of the Mitre Inn, LadyHelena Powyss, of Powyss P.lace, and Miss Inez Catheron being present. The first , witness called was Ellen Butters." . [ Ellen Butters sworn. — 'I was Lady Catheron's maid ; I was engaged in London and came down with her here ; on the afternoon, of Friday,.l6feh, < IylasJi saw my lady 'alive,' about half-past six ihuie afternoon ; sfie -had dressed for dinner ; the family dinner hour is seven ; sa^ nothing unusual about- her ; well yes, seemed a little out of spirits, ''biH was gentle and patient as usual ; when I had finished dressing her she threw her. phawl about her, and took a book, and said she, would qo 1 out for a, few "minutes and 'take the air ; she did go out, and' I vvenb down to the servants' hail ; sometime after seven Jane Pool,. the nurse., came down in a great flurry and said—' •, THE-CaKO^-ijK.— SYoung woman, We don't; want, to hear what jane Pool said and did. We want to know what you saw yourself.' Ellen, Better's (sulkily,).— 'Very well, that's what' lam trying to" te ( ll you. If Jane Pool hadn'&said-Sir Victor had gone off to Powyss Place, and that she didn't think' it would be propei\to disturb my lady just then*; I would have gone up to my lady tor orders. Jane had her supper "and went up to the nursery for baby. She came back again after awhile— it was just past eight— in a temper, saying she had left my lady when she took away ba,by, and returned to awake her. She had met Miss Inez, who ordered her away about her business, saying my lady was still ' asleep. , Jane t Pool said — ' , 1 The Coroner — ' Moung woman, we don't ..want to'hear what Jane Pool said. Jane Poolwill tell her own story presently; we won't trouble you to tell -both. At what ' 'hour did you go up to* the nursery yourN self?' * : ~" Y. - - Ellen t Buttkrs 1 (more sulkily).—' I disi .leiuember ;it was after eight, I could tell • all about i 6 -better, if you wouldn't keep • interrupting and putting me out. It was i about a quarter or twenty minutes past I eight, I think— 1 » The' Coroner (dogmatically). —' Yv hat : you think won't do. Be more precise if you , please, and keep your temper. What , o'clock was it, I say, when you went up to - the nursery ?' Ellkn Butters (excitedly). — 'It was 1 about a quarter or twenty minutes past - eight— how can' I know any surer when I b don't know. I don't carry a watch, and 3 didn't iook at the clock. I'm sure I .never s expected to be badgered about it in this way., I said I'd go and wake my.lady up, 2 and not leave her there "to catchjher death, b in spite of fifty Miss Catherons.' I rapped at the door ' and got no answer, tlien I Y opened it and went in. There was no light, ' t but the moon was shining bright and clear* 9 and I saw my lady sitting, with he* shawl around her, in the arm-chair. I thought she was asleep and called her-r-there r was a no answer. I called again, and t pub my hand on her bosom to arouse her. Something web my hand — it was blood. I looked a at her closer, and saw , blood on her dress, and oozing in a little stream from the left ? breast. Then I knew she had been killed" I ran screaming from the room, and do\vn ;. among the rest of the servants. I told ; them— l didn't know how. And I don't a remember any more, for I fell in a' faint. d When I came to I was alone— the rest .were 5. up in the nursery. I got up and joined ir them—that's everything I know about; it.' Ellen Butters retired, and 'William ,' Hooper was galled. This isMrHop^r'ft n, I evidence ;

'I have been butler in Sir Victor Cath6ron's family tor twenty years. On the night of Friday last, as I sat in the servants' hall after supper, the young woman, Ellen Butters, my lady's London niaid, came scroeching downstairs like a creature gone mad, that my lady was murdered, and frightened us all out of our senses. As she was always a flighty young < person, I didn't believe her. I ordered her to be quiet and tell us what she meant. Instead of doing it she gave a sort of gasp and fell fainting down in a heap. 1 made them lay her down on the floor, and then follow me up to the nursery. We went in a body — I at the head. There was no Ug;hb but the moonlight in the room. My lady lay back in the arm-chair, her eyes closed, bleeding and quite dead. I ran to Miss Inez's room and called her. My master was not at home, or I would have called him instead. I think she must have been dead some minutes. She was growing cold when I fouhti her.' ' William Hooper,' continued the ' Chesholm Courier,' communicatively, 'wascrossexamined as to the precise time of finding the body. He said that it was close upon half- past eight, the half-hour struck as he went up to Miss Inez's room.' James Dicksey was next called. James Dicksey, a shambling lad of eighteen, took his place, his eyes rolling in abject terror, and under the evident impression that he was being tried for life. Every answer was wrung from this frightened youth, as with red- hob pincers, and it was with the utmost difficulty anything consistent could be extorted at all. ' About half-past six on Friday evening, Mr Dicksey was rambling about the grounds, in the direction of the laurel walk. In the open ground it was still quite light, in the laurel walk it was growing dusk. As he drew near, he heard voices in the laurel walk — anerry voices, though not very loud — the voices of a man and a woman. Peeped in and saw my lady. Yes, it was my lady — yes, he was sure. Was it likely now he wouldn't know my lady ? The man was very tall, had a furrin-looking hat pulled over his eyes, and stood with his back to him. He didn't see his face. They were quarrelling and— well yos, he did listen. Heard the man call her " Ethel," and ask for money. She would'b give it to him. Then he asked for jewels. She refused again, and ordered him to go. She was very angry — she stamped her foob once and said : "If you don't go instantly I'll call my husband. Between you and your sister you will drive me mad."' When she said that, he guessed ab once who the big furrin looking man was. It was Miss Inez's brother, Mr Juan Cabheron. Had heard tell of him often, and knew he had been at the house the night of my lady's arrival, and that there had been a row.' Mr Dicksey was here sharply reprimanded, informed that his suspicions and hearsays were not wanted, and requested to come back to the point. He came back. ' My lady couldn't give him anything, then he got mad and said : (James Dicksey had been vaguely impressed by these remarkable words ab the time, and had been silenbly revolving them ever since) ' Give me the jewels, or by all the gods I'll blow the story of your marriage to me all over England !' The breathless silence of coroner, jury, and spectators at this juncture was something not to be described. In that profound silence, James Dicksey went rair>bling on to say, that he could swear before the Queen herself to those words, that he had been thinking them over ever since he had heard them, and that he couldn't make top or tail of them. The Coroner (interrupting) — ' What further did you overhear ? . Be careful, remember you are on oath.' James Dicksey. — ( I heard what my lady said. She was in an awful passion, and spoke aloud. She said, " You will not, you dare not, you're a coward : Sir Victor has you in his power, and if you say one word you'll be silenced in Chesholm gaol." Then she stamped her foot again, and said, " Leave me, Juan Catheron ; I am not afraid ot you." Yes, he was sure of the name; she called him Juan Catheron, and looked as if she could eat him alive. He had heard no more ; he was afraid of being caught, and had stolen quietly away. Had said nothing at all about it to anyone, was afraid it might reach my lady's ears, and that he would lose bis place for eavesdropping. At ten o'clock that night was told of bhe murder, and was took ail of a bremble. Had .told Superintendent Ferrick something of thi& Dext day, but this was all — yes so help him, all he had heard, and just as he had heard it.' JamesDicksey wasrigidly cross-examined, and clung to his testimony with a dogged tenacity nothing could alter or shake. He could swear positively to the name she had uttered, to the words both had spoken, if he were dying. A profound sensation ran through the room as James Dicksey sat down — a thrill of unutterable apprehension and fear. The examination of these three witnesses had occupied the whole of the afternoon. The court adjourned until next morning at ten o'clock. On Tuesday morning, despite the inclemency of the weather (said the ' Chesholm Courier ' to its readers) the parlour of the Mitre, the halls, the stairways, and even the inn yard were filled at the hour of nine. The excitement was intense— you might have heard a pin drop in the silence when the examination of witnesses was re sumed. William Hooper was again called to take the stand. The Coroner. —^You remember, I suppose, the evening on which Sir Victor brought Lady Catheron home ?' Witness.— 'l do.' Coroner. — ' You had a visitor on that night. You admitted him, did you not, Mr Hooper ? Who was that visitor ?' • It was Juan Catheron.' ' Was Mr Juan Catheron in the habit of visiting Catheron Royals ?' 'He was not.' •Can you recollect how long a period had elapsed since his previous visit?' 'Mr Catheron had not been at the Royals for over four years. He was wild — there was ill-feeling between him and my master.' ' Betwpen him and his sister also ?' ' I don't know. I — believe so. ' ■, Here the witness looked piteously at the ury. ' I had rather not answer these questions, gentlemen, if you please. I'm an old servant of bhe family — whatever family secrets may have come under my knowledge I have no right to reveal.' The Coroner (blandly) : ' Only a few more, Mr Hooper. We require to know on what footing Mr Juan Catheron stood with his family. Did he ever come to Catheron Royals to visit his sister ?' • He did not.' • Had he ever been forbidden the house ? ! ' I — believe so.' ' On bhe evening of Sir Victor and Lady Catheron's arrival his visit was entirely unexpected then ?' , cl don't know.' ' ' Who admitted him ?' 'I did.' * * What did he say to you ?' * I don't remember. Some "abbling noise —nothing, more. He was always lightheaded. He ran upstairs and into the clihing-robm before I could prevent it. 1

' How long did he remain ?' ' About twenty minutes— no longer, I am certain. Then ho came running back and I let him out. 1 ' Had there been a quarrel ?' ' I don't know.' doggedly ; ( I wasn't there. Mr Juan came down laughing, I know that. 1 know nothing moie about it. 1 have never seen him since.' ( To be Continued. )