eyes still hidden in her shaking hands. "But
how do you know? Tell me all you know."

Then George told her without omission or
reservation. She listened eagerly, greedily, and
as the narrative proceeded she became quite
calm. George dwelt on his astonishment that
Routh had not made the discovery which had
forced itself upon him, but Harriet disposed of
that part of the matter in a moment.

"You forget," she said, " he was not in
London. When you came to me, on your
return from Amherst, do you not remember I told
you Stewart was away, hiding from his
creditors, poor fellow? He never heard of the
murder very likely; he never interests himself
in such horrors. Indeed, he never mentioned
anything about it to me, and of course he
must have known at once that the man was
Deane. The very name of the tavern in the
Strand where he was to have dined himself,
would have suggested the idea."

"Precisely so," said George; "that was the
thing which puzzled me so completely, and
made me anxious to see him."

"The strangeness of the coincidence," said
Harriet, "is as remarkable as the event is
horrible. It only proves how mistaken are our
notions of the laws of chance. What could be
more wildly improbable than that, living in the
midst of London, and within constant reach of
the talk and speculation about it, Stewart and
I should have known nothing of the matter?"

"Very extraordinary indeed," said George;
"one of those facts which would be denounced
as too unnatural, if they were told in fiction.
And how unfortunate! What a terrible
mystery Routh might have cleared up!"

"And yet," Harriet replied, with a furtive
glance at Dallas, full of keen and searching
expression, "what could he have told, beyond
the fact that he had known the man under the
name of Deane? After all, it comes to that,
and to no more, doesn't it?"

"To no more, my dear Mrs. Routh? To a
great deal more. When we tell the police what
we know, there will be not only an identification
of the body, but an explanation of the motive."

"I don't quite understand you," said
Harriet; and as she spoke, there came a click in her
throat, as there had come when she and George
Dallas had last spoken together.

Would it ever be over? Should her purpose
ever be gained?

"Don't you?" said George, surprised, "and
you so quick, too. But no wonder you are
upset by this; it is so dreadful when one has known
the person, is it not? But you will see in a
moment that our being able to depose to the
large sum of money and the jewels in the poor
fellow's possession will make the motive quite
plain. They have got a notion now that he was
a foreigner, and that the motive was political,
whereas it was of course simply a robbery. He
resisted, I suppose, and was killed in the scuffle."

"Does the report read like that?" asked
Harriet, faintly.

"It simply says he was stabbed," said

George; " but it is plain that all the newspapers
took up the political-murder notion at once, and
then, of course, their reports would be made to
fit their theory. No doubt some ruffian did it
who knew that he had a large sum about him
that day. Very likely he had been traced from
the City; he had been there to get some
securities. I can swear to his having told me that,
at all events. How very ill you look, Mrs.
Routh. This ghastly story has been too much
for you. I don't think you ever liked poor
Deane, but no one could know of a man's
coming to such an untimely end, if he was ever
such a bad fellow, and not feel it, especially you.
I wish I had not said anything. It would have
been better for Routh to have told you this."

"No, no," said Harriet. "Indeed it is
better that I should hear it from you, and you
are mistaken in supposing I am so much overcome
entirely on account of — on account of—"

"The murder? Yes?" asked George, looking
anxiously at her.

"It is all dreadful; no one in the world can
feel it to be more dreadful than I do," said
Harriet, earnestly.

As she spoke she rose from her chair, pushed
her hair off her forehead, and began to walk
slowly up and down the room. George sat still,
following her with his eyes, and noting, in all
his excitement and perturbation of spirit, the
change which a few weeks had made in her
appearance.

"I am grieved and troubled for you, George.
I see in this serious results for you, and I
think more of them."

"For me, Mrs. Routh? What can happen
for me in this matter that has not already
happened? My mother has suffered all she can
suffer. Time may or may not restore her.
Surely the follies and sins of my life have been
heavily punished. Nothing can undo all this
misery; but nothing can be added to it either.
I have only to set the mystery at rest."

"Take care, George," said Harriet, earnestly;
"I am not sure of that. Let us look at the
case in all its bearings. Nothing that you have
to tell can contradict the evidence given at the
inquest, and which directs suspicion against you.
You did dine with this wretched man; you did
leave the tavern in his company; you did wear
the coat to which the waiter swears."

"Ah, by-the-by," said George, " that was the
coat I left at your house. Where is it, Mrs.
Routh? It must be produced, of course."

He did not yet perceive that she was trying
to shake his determination; but she answered
his question with truly wonderful carelessness.
"The coat; oh yes, I remember. . You wrote to
me about it. It must be here, of course, unless
it has been lost in the flitting from South Molton-street.
He tells me a lot of his things have
gone astray."

"Well," said George, "that's easily found
out. Pray go on, Mrs. Routh. You were saying—"

"I was saying, George, that when you put
together all the strange coincidences in this
matter which have led, naturally it must be