Such an idea was certainly a preposterous one to entertain. He neither could nor would believe she knew more of this matter than any other disinterested person in town, and yet there had certainly been something in her bearing upon the scene of tragedy, that suggested a personal interest in the affair; nor could he deny that he himself had been struck by the incongruity of her behavior long before it attracted the attention of others. But then he had opportunities for judging of her conduct which others did not have. He not only had every reason to believe that the ring to which she had so publicly laid claim was not her own, but he had observed how, at the moment the dying woman had made that tell-tale exclamation of "_Ring_ and _Hand!_" Miss Dare had looked down at the jewel she had thus appropriated, with a quick horror and alarm that seemed to denote she had some knowledge of its owner, or some suspicion, at least, as to whose hand had worn it before she placed it upon her own. It was not, therefore, a matter of wonder that he was visibly affected at finding her conduct had attracted the attention of others, and one of those a detective, or that the walk home after his interview with Mr. Byrd should have been fraught with a dread to which he scarcely dared to give a name. The sight of Miss Dare coming down the path as he reached his own gate did not tend to greatly allay his apprehensions, particularly as he observed she was dressed in travelling costume, and carried a small satchel on her arm. "Imogene," he cried, as she reached him, "what is the meaning of this? Where are you going?" Her face, which wore a wholly unnatural and strained expression, turned slowly toward his. "I am going to Buffalo," she said. "To Buffalo?" "Yes." This was alarming, surely. She was going to leave the town--leave it suddenly, without excuse or explanation! Looking at her with eyes which, for all their intense inquiry, conveyed but little of the serious emotions that were agitating his mind, he asked, hurriedly: "What takes you to Buffalo--to-day--so suddenly?" Her answer was set and mechanical. "I have had news. One of my--my friends is not well. I must go. Do not detain me." And she moved quickly toward the gate. But his tremulous hand was upon it, and he made no offer to open a passage for her. "Pardon me," said he, "but I cannot let you go till I have had some conversation with you. Come with me to the house, Imogene. I will not detain you long." But with a sad and abstracted gesture she slowly shook her head. "It is too late," she murmured. "I shall miss the train if I stop now." "Then you must miss it," he cried, bitterly, forgetting every thing else in the torture of his uncertainty. "What I have to say cannot wait. Come!"