"I protest upon my honour that I have had neither act nor part in this crime!" cried Herbert, in agitation. "Do you think I would stain my hand with the sin of Cain?" "What is that on your hand?" asked the sergeant, bending forward to look more closely at Herbert's fingers. Herbert held them out openly enough. "I was doing something last night which tore my fingers," he said. "I was trying to undo the fastenings of some wire. Sergeant Delves, I declare to you solemnly, that from the moment when my brother went to his chamber, as witnesses have stated to you, I never saw him until my father brought me down from my bed to see him lying dead." "You drew a knife on him not many hours before, you know, Mr. Herbert!" "It was done in the heat of passion. He provoked me very much; but I should not have used it. No, poor fellow! I should never have injured him." "Well, you only make your tale good to the magistrates," was all the sergeant's answer. "It will be their affair as soon as you are before them--not mine." Herbert Dare was handed back to the constable; and, as soon as the justice-room opened, was conveyed before the magistrates--all, as the sergeant termed it, in a genteel, gentlemanly sort of way. He was charged with the murder of his brother Anthony. To describe the commotion that spread over Helstonleigh would be beyond any pen. The college boys were in a strange state of excitement: both Anthony and Herbert Dare had been college boys themselves not so very long ago. Gar Halliburton--who was no longer a college boy, but a supernumerary--went home full of it. Having imparted it there, he thought he could not do better than go in and regale Patience with the news, by way of _divertissement_ to her sick bed. "May I come up, Patience?" he called out from the foot of the stairs. "I have something to tell you." Receiving permission, up he flew. Patience, partially raised, was sewing with her hands, which she could just contrive to do. Anna sat by the window, putting the buttons on some new shirts. "I have finished two," cried she, turning round to Gar in great glee. "And my father's coming home next week, he writes us word. Perhaps thy mother has had a letter from William. Look at the shirts!" she continued, exhibiting them. "Never mind bothering about shirts, now, Anna," returned Gar, losing sight of his gallantry in his excitement. "Patience, the most dreadful thing has happened. Anthony Dare's murdered!" Patience, calm Patience, only looked at Gar. Perhaps she did not believe it. Anna's hands, holding out the shirts, were arrested midway: her mouth and blue eyes alike opening.