“My poor child, how you are trembling. I am not angry, Innocent; why are you so frightened? Sit down and rest, and let me get up, and then you can tell me. Come, dear, come; it cannot be anything so very bad,” said Mrs. Eastwood with a smile, endeavouring to disengage her arm from Innocent’s hold. But the girl’s fixed gaze, and her desperate clasp did not relax. Her white face was set and rigid. “Do not be angry!” she said again, with a voice of woe strangely at variance with the simple entreaty; and while Mrs. Eastwood waited expecting to hear some simple confession, such as that Innocent had been frightened by the strange faces, or weary of the monotonous life, and had run away--there suddenly fell upon her horrified ears words which stunned her, and seemed to make life itself stand still. They came slow, with little pauses between, accompanied by a piteous gaze which watched every movement of the listener’s face, and with a convulsive pressure of the arm which Innocent held to her bosom. “I have killed Frederick’s wife,” she said. “What does she say? She must be mad!” cried Mrs. Eastwood. The housemaid had followed Innocent into the room with officious anxiety, carrying the cup of tea, which was a means of satisfying her curiosity as to this strange and sudden arrival. Just as these terrible words were said she appeared at the foot of the bed, holding the tray in her hand. “No,” said Innocent, seeing nothing but her aunt’s face; “no, I am not mad. It was last night. I came home somehow, I scarcely know how--it was last night.” “And, Innocent, Innocent--you----?” “Oh, do not be angry!” cried Innocent, hiding her piteous face upon her aunt’s breast. The woe, the horror, the distracting sense of sudden misery seemed to pass from the one to the other in that rapid moment. But the mother thus suddenly roused had to think of everything. “Put down the tray,” she said quickly to the staring intruder at the foot of the bed, “call Alice to me, get Miss Innocent’s room ready, and send some one for the doctor. She is ill--quick, go and call Alice, there is not a moment to lose. Innocent,” she whispered in her ear as the woman went away, “Innocent, for God’s sake look at me! Do you know what you are saying? Innocent! Frederick’s wife?” Innocent raised herself up with a long-drawn sigh. Her face relaxed; she had put off her burden. “It was last night,” she repeated, “we were alone; I did not want to go, but they made me. She was angry--very angry--and then--oh! She opened her eyes and looked at me, and was still--still.--Till they came I did not know what it was.” “And it was----? For God’s sake, Innocent, try to understand what you are saying. Did she die--when you were with her? You are not dreaming? But, Innocent, _you_ had nothing to do with it, my poor, poor child?”