“I? Oh, no; certainly not,” was the quick response. “But--but--of course it’s a mystery. I--I wish it had happened at some other time. Curse it! It will never be found out.” “Yes, it will be found out,” said the squire, solemnly. He took two or three turns across the room, his hand to his brow; then he stopped suddenly. “Why, I remember! It must have occurred while you were on your way to The Maples. Did you hear nothing? The glade is not far from the drive.” Bartley Bradstone was putting on his overcoat, and stopped with one arm in the sleeve. “Who, I?” he exclaimed, indignantly. “What do you mean? What do I know about it?” Then, recalled to himself by the squire’s look of sad astonishment at his tone, he continued, more quietly, “For Heaven’s sake, don’t get me mixed up in the business; that--that would make it bad for Olivia, you know. I don’t know anything about it. I--I cut across the park in the other direction.” “With the carriage?” exclaimed the squire. “No, no, I didn’t take a carriage; didn’t I tell you? I thought I should save time by running across the park, and--and I wasn’t anywhere near the spot, I’m glad to say. They can’t force me to attend the inquest and all that, can they?” he asked, averting his face. The squire shook his head. “No, as you know nothing about it,” he said. Bartley Bradstone drew a breath of relief. “That’s all right!” he said. “Olivia would be awfully cut up if I got mixed up in this wretched business. It would make her worse than she is.” “She can scarcely be worse,” said the poor squire, sorrowfully. “She’ll get over it,” said Bartley Bradstone, putting on his hat. “It’s--it’s the shock, and all that. I’ll go now, I think. Give her my love, and tell her I’ll come and see her directly they’ll let me. We’ll get away the moment she’s strong enough; the--the change will do her good. If it hadn’t been for their dragging that fellow Faradeane here we should have been miles away by this time, confound it!” He passed into the hall and beckoned to a footman who was passing. “Let him come with me, will you, squire? It’s--it’s dark, and I’m upset and nervous. It’s enough to drive a fellow out of his mind.” The squire motioned an assent to the servant, who brought his hat and a lantern. At the hall door Bartley Bradstone paused, and came back to where the squire stood, looking vacantly and sadly out at the silent night. “Don’t--don’t tell anybody I walked over to The Maples unless you’re obliged,” he said, with forced carelessness. “These police fellows are always too ready to get a gentleman mixed up in the business, and they’d make a mountain of a molehill, and want me to appear at the trial, and all that. Good-night. Give my love to--to--my wife.” He held out his hand, with his restless, bloodshot eyes fixed on the squire’s boots, and as the old man took it, he noticed, in a dull way, how cold and clammy it felt.