“It is not necessary,” Miss Heathcote said, sadly. “I feel you are telling me only the truth. Oh, Carry,” and she burst into tears, “if you knew how I have hoped against hope—how I buoyed myself up all these years with the faith that when your father said that he had deliberately deceived you under promise to marry you, he said so only in his grief and anger. But it is all over now. Only from your own lips could I have believed that Frank Maynard would have——.” “I beg your pardon,” Carry said, turning very white again, and trembling all over. “Who did you say?” Seeing her agitation, Alice said hastily, “I beg your pardon for paining you by mentioning his name.” “Who did you say?” again Carry asked. “Frank Maynard,” Alice said, surprised at this strange conduct. “Frank Maynard!” Carry said. “Is it Frank Maynard who has been accused all this time?” “Yes, yes,” Alice said, the possibility of a mistake flashing across her, and leaping up, she seized Carry by the shoulders. “Oh, Carry, Carry, for God’s sake tell me it was not he—tell me, and I will fall on my knees and bless you. Tell me it was not he.” “Frank Maynard!” again Carry repeated. “I never saw him but once. No; it was Captain Bradshaw’s nephew, Mr. Bingham.” Alice gave a cry that was almost a scream of joy, and then fell on her knees. “Great God, I thank thee!” she sobbed out. “Merciful God, I thank thee that thou hast taken this great burden off me—that thou hast cleared my brother from this accusation.” Then, with her face on Carry’s knee, she cried more quietly for some time, Carry crying too, although she hardly even yet comprehended what had happened. “And is it possible,” she asked at last, when Alice had a little recovered her composure, “that Mr. Maynard has been accused of this? How could such a terrible mistake have occurred?” “Your own father accused him of it to Captain Bradshaw.” “Impossible!” Carry said. Then she rose, opened the door, and called to her father, who was walking nervously up and down the shop during this long interview, to come in. “Father,” she said, “a dreadful mistake has somehow occurred. Miss Heathcote says that you went to Captain Bradshaw and accused Mr. Maynard—the Mr. Maynard who saved your life, you know, father—of being the cause of my death.” “God bless my soul!” Mr. Walker exclaimed, in a state of extreme nervous astonishment, “the lady must be mistaken. I never thought of such a thing—it never entered my mind. Why should it?” Carry looked at Miss Heathcote in perplexity. “My father is a very nervous man, Miss Heathcote; but I don’t see how he could have made such a mistake as that. As he says, why should he?” Alice, too, was puzzled. “Can you remember what you did say, Mr. Walker?” “I can’t exactly remember what I said,” Mr. Walker answered. “I always had a wretched memory. But I am pretty sure—yes, I am quite sure—I told him his nephew had caused the death of Carry; for I thought she was dead then.”