‘I can trust your truth,’ she said, looking at that frank honest face with her clear eyes, ‘but I cannot trust your judgment. You had but just recovered from a fever, in which your senses had been astray, when you heard of his death. He was shot, you say, in the forest. Who shot him?’ ‘I—I cannot tell you,’ faltered Geoffrey, in a cold perspiration. This Janet understood to mean ‘I do not know.’ ‘See how vague your information is,’ she exclaimed, with an incredulous laugh. ‘You were told that he was shot, but you were not told who shot him; you were not told the motive of the murder. Even in the backwoods I suppose people do not shoot each other quite without motive.’ Geoffrey stood before her dumbfoundered. ‘Did you kill him yourself?’ she asked, with a sudden flash of suspicion. ‘No, I wish I had; there should have been no mistake about it then.’ ‘Say no more, Mr. Hossack; this is a subject upon which you and I can hardly agree. When you can bring me direct and legal evidence of Mr. Vandeleur’s death, I will believe it.’ ‘And if I ever can do that—and from the manner of his death it is almost impossible—you will give me some reward for my fidelity—eh, Janet?’ ‘I will make no bargains,’ she answered gravely. ‘I beg you to hold yourself entirely free, and for the sake of your own happiness I trust you may speedily get rid of this boyish infatuation.’ ‘Boyish!’ echoed Geoffrey, with the proud consciousness of his eight-and-twenty years. ‘Why I am your senior by two years. Lucius told me so.’ ‘Sorrow does the work of time in some lives,’ said Janet, with her sad smile; ‘I feel myself very old at six-and-twenty. Come, Mr. Hossack, you have been always very good to me, and for once in a way I will treat you as a friend. Little Flossie is very fond of you, and I know she is dying for a long talk about her new pets, the tame rabbits and the tortoiseshell kitten, whose acquaintance she has made down here. Stop and drink tea with us, and tell me how you happened to find me out in this quiet corner of the earth.’ ‘You forget that we are not a mile from one of the gates of Mardenholme,’ said Geoffrey, enchanted at the prospect of drinking tea with his goddess. ‘True; but I didn’t think you knew Lady Baker.’ ‘Didn’t you?’ said this Jesuit, in an artless tone. ‘Why, you see my people live down hereabouts—Hillersdon Grange—and my cousins and Lady Baker are uncommonly thick.’ Mrs. Bertram called to Flossie through the open window. The child was walking up and down the little path by the beehives, nursing her tortoiseshell kitten. She came bounding in joyfully at this summons, and exhibited this feline treasure to Mr. Hossack, that good-natured individual allowing the small member of the tiger tribe to make a promenade upon his outstretched arm, and pur triumphantly from a lofty perch on his coat-collar.