But was it probable—was it even possible—that the murderer would have lingered in broad daylight, with every chance against him, long enough to strip off the garments of his victim, in order still more effectually to hoodwink suspicion? Was it not a great deal more likely that Joseph Wilmot had spent the afternoon drinking in the tap-room of some roadside public-house, and had rambled back into the grove after dark, to meet his death at the hands of some every-day assassin, bent only upon plunder? All these thoughts passed through Arthur Lovell's mind as he sat with Sampson's faded letter in his hands. Margaret Wilmot watched him with eager, scrutinizing eyes. She saw doubt, perplexity, horror, indecision, all struggling in his handsome face. But the lawyer felt that it was his duty to act, and to act in the interests of his client, whatever vaguely-hideous doubts might arise in his own breast. Nothing but his _conviction_ of Henry Dunbar's guilt could justify him in deserting his client. He was not convinced; he was only horror-stricken by the first whisper of doubt. "Mr. Dunbar declines to see you," he said to Margaret; "and I do not really see what good could possibly arise out of an interview between you. In the meantime, if you are in any way distressed—and you must most likely need assistance at such a time as this—he is quite ready to help you: and he is also ready to give you permanent help if you require it." He opened Henry Dunbar's purse as he spoke, but the girl rose and looked at him with icy disdain in her fixed white face. "I would sooner crawl from door to door, begging my bread of the hardest strangers in this cruel world—I would sooner die from the lingering agonies of starvation—than I would accept help from Henry Dunbar. No power on earth will ever induce me to take a sixpence from that man's hand." "Why not?" "_You_ know why not. I can see that knowledge in your face. Tell Mr. Dunbar that I will wait at the door of this house till he comes out to speak to me. I will wait until I drop down dead." Arthur Lovell went back to his client, and told him what the girl said. Mr. Dunbar was walking up and down the room, with his head bent moodily upon his breast. "By heavens!" he cried, angrily, "I will have this girl removed by the police, if——" He stopped abruptly, and his head sank once more upon his breast. "I would most earnestly advise you to see her," pleaded Arthur Lovell; "if she goes away in her present frame of mind, she may spread a horrible scandal against you. Your refusing to see her will confirm the suspicions which——" "What!" cried Henry Dunbar; "does she dare to suspect me?" "I fear so." "Has she said as much?" "Not in actual words. But her manner betrayed her suspicions. You must not wonder if this girl is unreasonable. Her father's miserable fate must have been a terrible blow to her." "Did you offer her money?" "I did." "And she——" "She refused it."