We went out with her and walked across the field; the pater, I, and Tod. Nearly every blade of the short grass could be seen as distinctly as in the day. At the first stile she halted, saying she expected to meet David there, who had gone on to Dobbs the blacksmith on some errand connected with the horses. Tod saw a young hare scutter across the grass, and rushed after it, full chase. The moon, low in the heavens, as autumn moons mostly are, lighted up the perplexity on Annet's face. It _was_ perplexed. Suddenly she turned it on the Squire. "Mr. Todhetley, I am sure you must wonder what I came for." "Well, I thought you wanted something," said the Squire candidly. "We are always pleased to have you; you ought to have stayed tea." "I did want something. But I really could not muster courage to begin upon it. The longer I sat there--like a statue, as I felt--the more my tongue failed me. Perhaps I can say it here." It was a curious thing she had to tell, and must have sounded to the Squire's ears like an incident out of a ghost story. The gist of it was this: an impression had taken hold of her mind that her husband had not been fairly dealt with. In plain words, had not come fairly by his end. The pater listened, and could make no sense of it. "I can't tell how or when the idea arose," she said; "it seems to have floated in my mind so long that I do not trace the beginning. At first it was but the merest shadow of a doubt; hardly that; but it has grown deeper and darker, and I cannot rest for it." "Bless my heart!" cried the Squire. "Johnny, hold my hat a minute." "Just as surely as that I see that moon in the sky, sir," she went on, "do I seem to see in my mind that some ill was wrought to Frank by his brother. Mrs. Radcliffe said it would be." "Dear me! What Mrs. Radcliffe?" "Frank's mother. She had the impression of it when she was dying, and she warned Frank that it would be so." "Poor Selina! But--my dear lady, how do you know that?" "My husband told me. He told me one night when we were sitting alone in the parlour. Not that he put faith in it. He had escaped Stephen's toils until then, he said in a joking tone, and thought he could take care of himself and escape them still. But I fear he did not." "Now what is it you do fear?" asked the Squire. "Come." She glanced round in dread, and then spoke with considerable hesitation and in a low whisper. "I fear--that Stephen--may have--murdered him." "Mercy upon us!" uttered the Squire, recoiling a step or two. She put her elbow on the stile and raised her hand to her face, showing out so pale and distressed under its white net border. "It lies upon me, sir--a great agony. I don't know what to do." "But it _could not_ be," cried the Squire, collecting his scared senses. "Your imagination must run away with you, child. Frank died up at Dr. Dale's; Stephen Radcliffe was down here at the time."