"Yes, I know." Gwen stopped him and shivered also. "I didn't think of what I was saying. But we can't stay here amongst the tombs." "Why not? Have you any sad recollections about these tombs? Your father is not buried here, I know." "He is buried at Rhaiadr, in Wales, where his ancestors lie," said the girl in an altered tone. "But I wish you would not speak of my father. He was so cruel to me that I wish to forget all about him for the time being. We will have to talk of him later, when it is necessary to learn who killed him. Meantime, let us have our golden hour. But no"--she made a gesture of despair--"we have lost that as it is." "Why so?" "Because you have called up the spectre of my father," said Gwen sadly. "You have reminded me that I am looked at askance by the villagers." "Dear, you are quite wrong about that. Mrs. Bell speaks of you in the highest terms of respect. I think you are making a mistake." "No, I am not," said Gwen decisively. "I don't say that any one has openly declared that I have anything to do with the--the crime"--her breath came and went quickly--"but people look and people talk secretly." "What does it matter so long as they don't talk openly?" said Hench, soothing her gently. "I wish they would," she cried vehemently. "For then I could meet the rumours better. As it is I am fighting in the dark--and all alone, too." "No! No!" Hench gathered her into his strong arms. "You have me to fight for you now. Be calm, dearest; everything will be put right now." "Eh, my faith, but that is most true," said a voice immediately behind them, and the lovers jumped up in dismay to find that they were observed. The speaker had suddenly emerged from behind a tall tombstone near at hand, and stood staring hard at them--a dumpy little woman with a swarthy face and big black eyes now filled with anger. It did not require the orange-spotted dress, the shabby bead-trimmed mantle and the picture hat to inform either of the young people who the spy was. Hench recognized Madame Alpenny at once, and Gwen beheld the unknown visitor who had called at the Grange. To a woman the dress was sufficient to fix the identity. "You are the woman who came to see my father," said Gwen, turning white, for the sight of this visitor revived her recollections of the painful days before Squire Evans was murdered. "Yes, I am the woman. Very clever of you, Mademoiselle, to remember me." "I remember your dress. Who are you?" Madame Alpenny nodded suavely towards the silent Hench. "Ask him." Gwen turned round and looked hard at her lover's colourless face. "Who is this woman?" she asked almost inaudibly. "Do you know her?" "None better," snapped the Hungarian lady. "Come, Mr. Hench, say who I am, and then I shall tell Mademoiselle who you are." "Tell him who he is; tell me who he is," stuttered Gwen incoherently. "What do you mean?" "Ask him," said Madame Alpenny once more. "Mr. Hench----"