"Philip, lad," he said to me, speaking slowly, and yet with a certain eagerness in his tone, "has your mother had any visitors lately whilst I 'a' been out on the farm?" I shook my head. "No one, except Mr. Francis," I added doubtfully. He groaned and hid his face for a moment. "How often has he been here?" he asked, after a while. "When did he come first? Dost remember?" "Yes," I answered promptly, "It was on the day Tom Foulds fell from the oat-stack and broke his leg. There was another gentleman with him then. I saw them looking in at the orchard gate, so I asked them if they wanted anything, and the strange gentleman said that he was thirsty and would like some milk, so I took him into the dairy; and I think that mother must have known him before, for she seemed so surprised to see him. "He gave me half a crown, too," I went on, "to run away and watch for a friend of his. But the friend never came, although I waited ever so long. He's been often since; but I don't like him and----" I broke off in sudden dismay. Had not my mother forbidden my mentioning these visits to anyone? What had I done? I began to cry silently. My father rose from his chair and leaned against the oaken chimney-piece, with his back turned towards me. "It's he, sure enough!" he gasped. "Heaven forgive her! But him--him----" His voice seemed choked with passion and he did not finish his sentence. I knew that I had done wrong, and a vague apprehension of threatening evil stole swiftly upon me. But I sat still and waited. It was long before my father turned round and spoke again. When he did so I scarcely knew him, for there were deep lines across his forehead, and all the healthy, sunburnt tan seemed to have gone from his face. He looked ten years older and I trembled when he spoke. "Listen, Philip, lad!" he said gravely. "Your mother thinks I be gone straight away to Farmer Woods to see about the colt, don't she?" I nodded silently. We had not expected him home again until late in the evening. "Now, look you here, Philip," he continued. "She's gone to bed wi' a headache, you say? Very well. Just you promise me that you won't go near her." I promised readily enough. Then he bade me get my tea and he sank back again into his chair. Once I asked him timidly if he were not going to have some, but he took no notice. When I had finished he led me softly upstairs and locked me in my room. Never to this day have I forgotten that dull look of hopeless agony in his face as he turned away and left me. CHAPTER III. THE MURDER AT THE SLATE-PITS. It was late on this same evening. All day long the thunder had been rumbling and growling, and now the storm seemed close at hand. I had partly undressed, but it was too hot to get into bed, so I leaned out of my wide-open window, watching the black clouds hanging down from the sky, and listening to the rustling of leaves in the wood--sure sign of the coming storm.