"In a house like this, where such deeds have been done, I think it right to be armed. Do you think if I had feared you, or your evidence, I would have restored that dagger?" "Whose was it?" "I told you the other night that I once saw a weapon like it, for which at first I mistook it, but closer examination convinced me of the difference." "How does it differ?" "In this. There was no snake on the handle of the other, though there was the cross on the blade." "And where did you see the other?" "Some day I will tell you. It is not right to do so now." "Not convenient to you, I suppose you mean." "I have also shown you that the lock of hair found in your poor mother’s hand is much finer and more silky than mine; and you know that I cannot draw on my foot a boot so small as the one whose impression you have. But I am ashamed of myself for having stooped to such proofs as these. Dare you to look at me and suppose that I with my own hand could have stabbed my brother, a brother so kind and good to me, and for whose sake alone I have borne so long with you?" He tried to look me down. I have met but one whose gaze could master mine; and he was not that one. "So, you doubt me still? Are your things packed?’ "Yes, and my mother’s." "Then if your mother is well enough, and will not let you leave her, you had better go next week." "No," I replied, "we will go to-morrow." "Wilful to the last. So be it. Take this; you cannot refuse it in duty to your mother." He put in my hand an order for a large sum of money. I threw it into the fire. "There have been criminals," I exclaimed, "who have suffered from a life-long fear, lest the widow and orphans, starved through their crime, should compass their dying bed. Though we starve in a garret, we touch no bread of yours." "Bravo, Miss Melodrame. You need never starve in the present state of the stage." "That I don’t understand; but this I do. It is perhaps the last time I shall ever see you living. Whether you did that deed or not is known to God, and you, and possibly one other. But whether you did it or not, I know it is on your soul. Your days are wretched, your nights are troubled. You shall die as your brother died, but not so prepared for death." "Good bye, Clara. My lunch is coming up." God has much to forgive me, but nothing worse than the dark thought of that speech. In my fury at weakness in such a cause, I had dared sometimes to imagine that my mother knew him to be the murderer, but concealed it for the sake of the family honour! CHAPTER XII.