"Little one," said Caspar, "I'm afraid we have both got ourselves into a mess." It did not sound comforting, but Lesley stayed her tears to listen. "I have been talking to Grierson," her father continued, "and we have agreed that there must be no suppression of the truth. My dislike to Oliver Trent has been commented on already, and I must give a reason for it. Lesley, my dear, you will have to contribute your own evidence as to the reason." Lesley looked up with terrified, wide-open eyes. "Do you mean that I shall have to say----" "You will have to go into the witness-box and tell what you know, or rather answer the questions that are asked you." "But will that be--best--for you?" She put the question with some difficulty. "That is not the point. What we have to do is to tell the truth, and leave the result to others." "--To God?" Lesley interposed, almost involuntarily. Caspar Brooke's lip moved with a grave smile. "Well, yes, to God if you will have it so--we use different terms, but perhaps we have the same meaning. We must at any rate leave the result to the working of various laws which we cannot control, and to fight against these laws of nature is wrong-doing--or sin. Therefore, Lesley, you will have to tell the truth, whether it may seem to be for my good or my harm." She glanced at him rather piteously, and her eyes filled with tears. Aunt Sophy's words recurred to her mind; but they seemed feeble and futile in the light of his courage and steadfastness. Aunt Sophy had been wrong--so much was clear to Lesley; and truth was best under all possible circumstances. "It is for Ethel I am sorry," she murmured. "Yes, poor Ethel. It is true then--what that woman said--that Oliver Trent was in love with you?" "I could not help it, father. I don't think it was my fault. I did not know till it was too late." "I am not blaming you, my dear. When I came into the drawing-room that day--do you remember?--what had happened then? Can you bear to tell me?" She hid her face on his shoulder as she answered, "He was speaking foolishly. I think he wanted to--to kiss me.... I was very glad that you came in." "Was that the first time?" "Yes, the first. And I did not even see him again until that Saturday night, when he found me in the study--and----" "And asked you to run away with him?" "Yes. Indeed, I had not led him to think that I would do any such thing, father. I told him never to speak to me again. If it had not been for Ethel's sake, I think I should have called someone--but I did not like to make a disturbance." "No, dear, no. And you--yourself--_you_ did not care for him?" "Oh no, no, no!" "It has been a terrible tangle--and the knot has been cut very rudely," said Mr. Brooke, in a musing tone. "Of one thing I am quite certain, we were not fit to have the care of you, Lesley--your aunt and I. You would never have been in this position, my poor child, if we had looked after you."