“Now for the secret!” said Mrs. Garside, as she sat down panting on a chair. “Suppose we adjourn downstairs,” said Tom. “I have much to say to you.” His tone was very grave. The colour faded out of Edith’s cheeks as he spoke. Her sensitive heart took alarm in a moment. As soon as Mrs. Garside, Edith, and Tom had entered the parlour, Martha Vince discreetly shut the door upon them, and went back to her work in the kitchen. “First of all,” began Tom, “I must ask whether your servant, Martha Vince, has your entire confidence.” “My full and entire confidence,” answered Edith, without a minute’s hesitation. “There is no more faithful creature breathing.” “My own idea of her exactly,” said Tom. “Such being the case, it would be as well that she should hear what I have to say to you.” So the bell was rung, and Martha was summoned to join the consultation in the parlour. “Some of my proceedings must have appeared very strange to you, Mrs. Dering,” said Tom, addressing himself to Edith. “If, at times, I have seemed over-intrusive, I must claim your forgiveness on the score of my thorough disinterestedness. In all that I have done, I have been actuated by one motive only: that motive was the welfare of my dear friend, Lionel Dering.” “I believe you, from my heart,” said Edith, earnestly. “But indeed, no such apology was needed—no apology at all.” Mrs. Garside coughed a dubious little cough. Really, that strange Mr. Bristow was more strange than usual this afternoon. “In all the affairs of this life,” went on Tom, “it is best never to expect too much: it is good to be prepared to face the worst.” “Ah!” said Edith, with a quivering, long-drawn sigh, “now I begin to understand you.” “The day fixed for Dering’s trial is at hand: the weight of evidence against him is terribly strong: no human being can say what the result may be.” He spoke very slowly and very gravely, and the faces of his listeners blanched as they heard him. “And I—heaven help me!” faltered Edith, “was foolish enough to think that, because he is innocent, he could not fail to be acquitted!” “Of his innocence we are all perfectly satisfied. But the jury will also have to be satisfied of it. And therein lies the difficulty. Unless some strong evidence in his favour be forthcoming at the trial, it is just possible—mind, I only say just possible—that—that—in short, that it may go somewhat hard with him.” “My darling child, this is indeed a dreadful revelation!” sobbed Mrs. Garside. But Edith neither sobbed nor spoke. She sat perfectly still, with white, drawn face, and with staring, horror-full eyes, that, gazing through the wide-open window, far away into the peaceful evening sky, seemed to see there some terrible vision of doom, unseen of all the others. “Oh dear! dear!” cried Mrs. Garside, “what a pity it is that you would insist on getting married!”