during their perusal. He read them with
uplifted eyebrows and much use of his
goldrimmed eye-glasses, as his habit was, but then
laid them down without comment, and took up
a newspaper.

"I dare say we shall find something about
the business in this," he said, addressing his
niece, but without turning his head in her
direction. "Ah, I thought so; here it is.
'Mysterious circumstance, extraordinary supineness
and stupidity of the police; no one arrested on
suspicion; better arrest the wrong man, and
tranquillise the public mind, than arrest no one
at all.' I'm not convinced by that reasoning, I
must say. What? No reason for regarding
the murder as a political assassination? Listen
to this, Clare;" and he read aloud, while she
stood by the window, her back turned towards
him, and listened, intently, greedily, with a
terrible fear and sickness at her heart:

"'The supposition that this atrocious crime has
been committed from political motives has, in our
opinion, no foundation in probability, and derives
very little support from common sense. The
appearance of the body, the fineness of the linen, the
expensive quality of the attire, the torn condition
of the breast and sleeves of the shirt, which seems
plainly to indicate that studs, probably of value,
had been wrenched violently out, the extreme
improbability that an, individual, so handsomely
dressed as the murdered man, would have been out
without money in his pocket, all indicate robbery
at least; and if perhaps more than robbery,
certainly not less, to have been the motive of the
crime. An absurd theory has been founded upon
a peculiarity in the dress of the victim, and upon
a remark made by the only witness at the inquest
about his tone of voice. Nothing is more likely,
in our opinion, than a complete miscarriage of
justice in this atrocious case. Suspicion has been
arbitrarily directed in one channel, and the result
will be, probably, the total neglect of other and
more likely ones. While the political murderer is
being theorised about and "wanted," the more
ordinary criminal, the ruffian who kills for gain,
and not for patriotism or principle, is as likely as
not to escape comfortably, and enjoy his swag
in some pleasant, unsuspected, and undisturbed
retreat.'

"Now, I call this most unjustifiable," said
Mr. Carruthers, in a tone of dignified
remonstrance and indignation. "Really, the liberty
of the press is going quite too far. The
government are convinced that the murder is
political, and I can't see——"

It was at this point of Mr. Carruthers's
harangue that he was interrupted by his wife's
maid. When he again looked for Clare, she
had disappeared, nor did he or any of the
frightened and agitated household at Poynings
see the young lady again for many hours. Dr.
Munns arrived and found Mr. Carruthers
considerably distressed at the condition in which
Mrs. Carruthers was, also a little annoyed at
that lady's want of consideration in being ill,
and unable to refrain from hinting, with much
reserve and dignity of manner, that he was at
present more than usually engaged in business
of the last importance, which rendered it
peculiarly unfortunate that he should have any
additional care imposed on him—public importance,
he took care to explain, and no less
onerous than mysterious. But the worthy
gentleman's pride and pompousness were soon
snubbed by the extreme gravity of Dr.
Munns's manner, as he answered his inquiries
and put questions in his turn relative to his
patient. The doctor was both alarmed and
puzzled by Mrs. Carruthers's state. He told
her husband she was very seriously ill; he
feared brain fever had already set in. Could
Mr. Carruthers account for the seizure in any
way? No, Mr. Carruthers could not; neither
could the housekeeper, nor Mrs. Carruther's
maid, both of whom were closely questioned,
as having more and more frequent access to
that lady's presence than any other members
of the household.

Had Mrs. Carruthers heard any distressing
intelligence? had she received a shock of
any kind? the doctor inquired. Mr. Carruthers
appeared to sustain one from the question.
Of course not; certainly not; nothing
of the kind, he replied, with some
unrepressed irritation of manner, and secretly
regarded the bare suggestion of such a possibility
as almost indecent. Mrs. Carruthers of Poynings
receive shocks indeed! The doctor, who
knew and disregarded his peculiarities, calmly
pursued his inquiries undeterred by Mr.
Carruthers's demeanour, and, finding that nothing
particular had happened, acknowledged that,
there being no apparent cause to which so
sudden and serious an illness could be
attributed, he was the more uneasy as to its
probable result. Then Mr. Carruthers caught the
infection of his alarm, and all the best side of
his character, all the real love and appreciation
of his wife, ordinarily overlaid by his
egotism, came out in full force, and the staunchest
stickler for domestic fealty could not have
demanded greater solicitude than the frightened
husband exhibited.

In a wonderfully short space of time the
house assumed the appearance which illness
always gives. The servants went about their work
whispering, and the sitting-rooms were silent
and deserted. No one bestowed a thought on
Clare. The attendants on the suffering woman,
busily engaged in carrying out the orders given
them by Dr. Munns, who remained for several
hours with his patient—the alarmed husband,
who wandered about disconsolately between
his own library and his wife's room—all forgot
the girl's existence. It was very late—within
a few minutes of the usual dinner-hour—an
inflexible period at Poynings—when Clare
Carruthers crossed the flower-garden, entered the
house by the window, through which she had
left it, and stole gently up-stairs to her own
room. She threw her hat and shawl upon her
bed, and went to her dressing-table. There she
stood for some minutes before the glass, holding