time. The tale she had to tell was all so fatally
against herself. Her conduct seemed incapable
of explanation even in her own eyes, what would
it appear in those of others?

"Can you remember any circumstances which
took place on the evening of the day on which
the deceased breathed her last?"

This was one of the coroner's first questions.
Of course, he had not neglected to caution her
very strongly that anything she said might be
used to her disadvantage.

Gabrielle's answers throughout the inquiry
were singularly unlike the evasive replies to
which coroners are accustomed. Yet she was
very frightened, and spoke in a low tone of
voice:

"Yes: she dined with us as usual."

"Can you remember anything peculiar which
took place?"

"Yes, I can remember everything. I am
sorry to say that the conversation turned in an
unfortunate direction, and some angry words
were spoken on both sides."

"' On both sides?' By your husband and
yourself, on the one side, and by the deceased
lady, on the other?"

"There were no angry words spoken by my
husband. Those that were spoken came from
my lips, and from—from——" She hesitated to
speak in apparent disparagement of the dead.
"My husband tried to quiet me, but I was very
angry."

"May I ask what had excited these unpleasant
feelings?"

"I thought—perhaps I was mistaken—that
she spoke with a wish to raise herself in my
husband's esteem, at my expense, implying that
he would have done well to have chosen her for
his wife rather than me."

"And this led to high words, no doubt? Can
you remember what you said?"

"I spoke hastily in the heat of the moment.
I did not mean what I said."

"We have been told that you spoke of
Miss Carrington as 'not fit to live.' Is that
true?"

"I am afraid it is."

"I gather from the evidence of the previous
witness that you were one of the last persons
who saw the deceased lady on the evening which
preceded her death. Did you observe anything
unusual in her manner or appearance? Did she
seem to be suffering at all in health?"

"She seemed to be very sleepy and heavy,
and complained of being tired."

"Nothing more remarkable than that?"

"No. I remember nothing."

"I must now ask you," resumed the coroner,
after a pause, " whether your going up-stairs on
this occasion with the deceased lady's supper was
not an unusual proceeding on your part? Had
you ever, in fact, done so before?"

This question was answered in the negative, a
circumstance which seemed to impress the jury
not a little.

"And how came it that on this occasion you
departed from your usual practice?"

"It was in consequence of what took place at
dinner-time. I wanted to take the opportunity
of having some explanation, and of expressing
my regret for what had occurred."

"And this was your only motive for acting as
you did."

"Indeed it was. What other could I have?"

What other indeed, poor soul? That was just
the question. The jurymen looked at one
another. There was a sort of artlessness about
those words which for the moment quite
disarmed suspicion. Even the coroner paused for
a time in his examination.

He resumed it after a while, endeavouring to
extract all the particulars of that last interview,
but there was nothing more to be gathered
from the evidence than what the reader knows
already.

"And this interview which took place on the
occasion of your taking up the refreshments to
Miss Carrington was the last? You never saw
her again?"

"I never saw her again alive? I heard the
tidings of what had happened from the servant
next morning, and hastened up-stairs, but it was
all over then."

It was not difficult to see that this evidence of
Mrs. Penmore's was by no means satisfactory to
the jury. Questions were put by some of the
jurymen, with the view of eliciting more information
in connexion with various parts of the
inquiry, but as Gabrielle had told all she had to
tell, the questions were put in vain. In vain,
also, did the coroner, versed in the examining of
witnesses, seek in his turn to extract some
additional facts. There were no additional facts to
extract, and Gabrielle was at length released from
this terrible ordeal.

Gilbert was close at hand waiting for her. He
had not been admitted to the room during the
examination of witnesses, because it had been
thought possible that it might have been necessary
for him to be included among them. His
evidence, however, could only have been a
corroboration of that last taken, so it was dispensed
with, and that of the medical man was taken
next.

It was very important, and, in this respect an
exception to the general rule, very decisive.
There was no hesitating opinions broached here
as to what might, or might not, have been the
cause of death. The traces of the poison were
not difficult to find, nor was its nature doubtful.
The cause of death was the administration of
opium, and that in a considerable quantity.
There was no doubt of it. The examination of
the body after death had revealed no indications
of mortal disease. There was slight congestion
of the liver, and certain small deviations from a
perfectly healthy condition of some of the other
organs, but no such symptoms of organic disease
as could in any way account for death. The
question now left for the jury to decide, was not