Lady Graves sank back shocked; and Ellen exclaimed, “How dreadfully sad! However, his health was very bad, poor man, so it is something of a release. Also, though you won’t care to think of such things now, there will be advantages for Emma——” “Be silent, Ellen. I have something more to tell you. Joan Haste, or rather Joan Rock, is dead also.” “Dead!” they both exclaimed. “Yes, dead, or, to be more accurate, murdered.” “Who murdered her?” asked Milward. “Her husband. I was walking back from Bradmouth, and found her dying in the road. But there is no need to tell you the story now—you will hear plenty of it; and I have something else to say. Do you mind leaving the room for a moment, Mr. Milward? I wish to speak to my mother and my sister.” “Edward is my husband, Henry, and a member of the family.” “No doubt, Ellen, but I do not desire that he should hear what I have to say. If you feel strongly about the matter I will go into the library with my mother.” “Oh! pray don’t trouble about me,” answered Edward; “I am accustomed to this sort of thing here, and I shall only be too glad to smoke a cigar in the hall, if Sir Henry does not object”; and he left the room, an example which Ellen did not follow. “Now that we are quite alone, Henry, perhaps you will condescend to unbosom yourself,” she said. “Certainly, Ellen. I have told you that this unhappy woman has been murdered. She died in my arms”—and he glanced at his coat—“now I will tell you why and how. She was shot down by her husband, who mistook her for me, ‘whom he meant to murder. She discovered his plan and personated me, dying in my stead. I do not wish to reproach either of you; the thing is too fearful for reproaches, and that account you can settle with your own consciences, as I must settle mine. But you worked so, both of you, that, loving me as she did, and feeling that she would have no strength to put me away otherwise, she gave herself in marriage to a man she hated, to the madman who to-night has slaughtered her in his blind jealousy, meaning to slaughter me. Do you know who this woman was, mother? She was Mr. Levinger’s legitimate daughter: it is Emma who is illegitimate; but she died begging me to keep the secret from my wife, and if you are wise you will respect her wish, as I shall. I have nothing more to say. Things have gone amiss between us, whoever is to blame; and now her life is lost, and mine is ruined.” “Oh! this is terrible, terrible!” said Lady Graves. “God knows that, whatever I have done, I acted for what I believed to be the best.”