"Then, Captain Tanerton--I fully believe you--why not reconsider your determination, and remain on active service? The _Shamrock_ is going to Madras; sails in a day or two; and you shall have her. She'll be home again before the _Rose of Delhi_. For your own sake I think you should do this--to still rancorous tongues." Jack sighed. "I can't feel free to go," he said. "This suspicion has troubled me more than you can imagine. I must get some employment on shore." "You should stand up before the world and assert your innocence in this same emphatic manner," returned the owner. "Why have you not done it?" Jack's voice took a tone of evasion at once. "I have not cared to do it." Charles Freeman looked at him. A sudden thought flashed into his mind. "Are you screening some one, Captain Tanerton?" "How can you ask such a question?" rejoined Jack. But the deep and sudden flush that rose with the words, gave fresh food for speculation to Mr. Freeman. He dropped his voice. "Surely it was not Sir Dace Fontaine who--who killed him? The uncle and nephew were not on good terms." Jack's face and voice brightened again--he could answer this with his whole heart. "No, no," he impressively said, "it was not Sir Dace Fontaine. You may at least rely upon that." * * * * * When I at length got back to Crabb, the Fontaines were there. After the inquest, they had gone again to Brighton. Poor Verena looked like a ghost, I thought, when I saw her on the Sunday in their pew at church. "It has been a dreadful thing," I said to her, as we walked on together after service; "but I am sorry to see you look so ill." "A dreadful thing!--ay, it has, Johnny Ludlow," was her answer, spoken in a wail. "I expect it will kill some of us." Sir Dace looked ill too. His furtive eyes had glanced hither and thither during the service, like a man who has a scare upon him; but they seemed ever to come back to Verena. Not another word was said by either of us until we were near the barn. Then Verena spoke. "Where is John Tanerton?" "In Liverpool, I hear." "Poor fellow!" Her tone was as piteous as her words, as her looks. All the bloom had gone from her pretty face; its lips were white, dry, and trembling. In Coralie there was no change; her smiles were pleasant as ever, her manners as easy. The calamity had evidently passed lightly over her; as I expect most things in life did pass. Saying good-morning at the turning, Sir Dace and Verena branched off to Maythorn Bank. Coralie lingered yet, talking with Mr. Todhetley. "My dear, how ill your father is looking!" exclaimed the Squire. "He does look ill," answered Coralie. "He has never been quite the same since that night in London. He said one day that he could not get the sight of Pym out of his mind--as he saw him lying on the floor in Ship Street." "It must have been a sad sight."