She had stood by, a quiet spectator of the scene, listening intently, ready at any moment to come to Christabel's rescue, if need were--understanding, for the first time, the moving springs of conduct which had been so long a mystery to her. "Thank you, Miss Bridgeman. I suppose you were in the plot--looked on and laughed in your sleeve, as you saw how a man of the world may be fooled by sweet words and lovely looks." "I knew nothing. I thought Mrs. Tregonell was possessed by the devil. If she had let you go on--if you had shot her husband--I should not have been sorry for him--for I know he killed a much better man than himself, and I am hard enough to hug the stern old law--a life for a life. But I should have been sorry for her. She is not made for such revenges." "And now you will be reconciled with your husband, I suppose, Mrs. Tregonell. You two will agree to forget the past, and to live happily ever afterwards?" sneered de Cazalet, looking up from the letter which he was writing. "No! there can be no forgetfulness for either of us. I have to do my duty to my son. I have to win God's pardon for the guilty thoughts and plans which have filled my mind so long. But I owe no duty to Mr. Tregonell. He has forfeited every claim. May I see your letter when it is finished?" De Cazalet handed it to her without a word--a brief epistle, written in the airiest tone, ascribing all that had happened at the Kieve to a sportive plot of Mrs. Tregonell's, and taking a polite leave of the master of the house. "When he reads that, I shall be half-way to Launceston," he said, as Christabel gave him back the letter. "I am deeply grateful to you, and now good-bye," she said, gravely, offering him her hand. He pressed the cold slim hand in his, and gently raised it to his lips. "You have used me very badly, but I shall love and honour you to the end of my days," he said, as Christabel left him. Jessie was following, but de Cazalet stopped her on the threshold. "Come," he said, "you must give me the clue to this mystery. Surely you were in it--you, who know her so well, must have known something of this?" "I knew knowing. I watched her with fear and wonder. After--after Mr. Hamleigh's death--she was very ill--mentally ill; she sank into a kind of apathy--not madness--but terribly near the confines of madness. Then, suddenly, her spirits seemed to revive--she became eager for movement, amusement--an utterly different creature from her former self. She and I, who had been like sisters, seemed ever so far apart. I could not understand this new phase of her character. For a whole year she has been unlike herself--a terrible year. Thank God this morning I have seen the old Christabel again." Half an hour afterwards the Baron's dog-cart drove out of the yard, and half an hour after his departure the Baron's letter was delivered to Leonard Tregonell, who muttered an oath as he finished reading it, and then handed it to his faithful Jack.