"You have no need. Ethel would never have believed the stories--and as Mrs. Trent denied them again, I think that Oliver would have carried the day. But let her deny them as she will, I believe that they were true, and that Oliver was a villain. Our poor Ethel may live to bless the day when she was delivered from him." "I am afraid she will never believe us, or forgive us if she does," sighed Lesley. "But what else happened?" "Your father left the building, after a long and angry conversation, about midnight. Oliver remained behind. Of course your father knows nothing more. But Mrs. Trent says that Oliver went away ten minutes later, and that she then heard loud words and the sound of a struggle upon the stairs. Fights are too common in that neighborhood to excite much remark. She, however, feeling anxious, stole down the upper flight of stairs, and distinctly saw Mr. Brooke and her brother-in-law struggling together. She maintains that Mr. Brooke's stick was in his hand." "How wickedly false! Why did she not scream if she saw such a sight?" "She was afraid. And she says that she did not think it would come to--_murder_. She crept back to her room again, and in a few minutes everything was quiet. Only--in the early morning the dead body of Oliver Trent was found upon the stairs, and then she gave information as to what she had seen and heard." There was a short silence. Then Lesley said, very tremulously--"It sounds like a plot--a plot against my dear father's good name!" "And a very cleverly concocted plot too," thought Maurice to himself in silent rage; but he dared not say so much aloud. He only answered, tenderly-- "Such a plot can never come to good, Lesley. You and I together--we will unravel it--we will clear your father, and bring him back to the world again." "He is not coming home just yet, then?" "I am afraid--dear, do not tremble so--he will have to take his trial. But he will be acquitted, you will see." She let him press her fingers to his lips again, and made no outward sign; but the two looked into each other's eyes, and each was conscious of the presence of a deadly fear. CHAPTER XXXV. A VAIN APPEAL. Lesley went home to sleep, and learned from her aunt the details of her father's arrest. "But he will be back in a few hours," said Miss Brooke, obstinately. "They will be obliged to let him ago. They will accept bail, of course. Mr. Kenyon thinks they will." "Has Mr. Kenyon been here?" "Oh, yes; he brought me a message from Caspar. What a horrible thing it is! But the ridiculous--absurd--part of it is that your father should be accused. Why, your father was very friendly with Oliver Trent--at least he used to be!" Then Miss Brooke paused, and fired an unexpected question at her niece. "Have you any reason to think he was not?" Lesley winced and hesitated. "I don't think he liked Mr. Trent very much," she said, at last; "but that is a different thing----"