“Hush, hush, miss!” murmured Bessie, soothingly. “Something will be done; the truth must come to light.” But though she tried to speak confidently, her voice trembled, and she had to turn her face away. “Yes, the truth will come to light when it is too late and they have--killed him. Oh, if there was only some one I could go to, some one to help me! If I were only a man instead of a weak, feeble woman! What is that?” she broke off sharply, as she caught sight of the note in Bessie’s hand. Bessie held it out reluctantly. “From him!” panted Olivia. “No, from--Mr. Bradstone, miss,” replied Bessie, pronouncing the name as if with an effort. Olivia drew the hand back as if the envelope had power to sting her; then she took it slowly and read it. With a cry she let the letter fall from her hands, and flung them before her face as if to shut out some fearful sight. Bessie flew to her with an exclamation; but suddenly Olivia’s emotion seemed to change, and, darting upon the letter, took it to the window and read it again with dilating eyes. Then she turned and grasped Bessie’s arm. “Bessie,” she whispered, hoarsely, a strange thrill in her voice, a strange light seeming to shine upon her face, “did you ever doubt his innocence? Did you? Did you?” she demanded, feverishly. Bessie looked at her indignantly. “No; nor I! But if I had, if even for a moment such a doubt had entered my heart, I should doubt no longer! Do you know why?” and her grasp tightened upon Bessie’s arm and terrified her. “I will tell you! Because Mr. Bradstone says that he saw him do it!” Bessie shrank back with a low cry of horror. “Says----Oh, no, no, miss!” “Yes! Listen! No, I will not sully my lips with the lie--for it is a lie! If it had been true he would not have waited until now! Ah, no!” She stopped and looked before her into vacancy, her dark brows drawn straight. “No, he would not have waited; he would have been only too glad to tell it. Then”--her voice dropped still lower--“why does he say it now? Why? why? Help me, Bessie,” and her hands worked convulsively. “There is some reason. Ah!” she started and shrank, and her face went white. “I see!” Panting and trembling, Bessie clung to her. “Oh, what is it, miss? What is it you think you have found out?” “I have found out this: I am sure that Mr. Bradstone knows who committed the murder!” replied Olivia, almost inaudibly. Bessie’s brain reeled, and it was she who clung to Olivia for support--Olivia, who every moment seemed to be gaining greater physical and mental strength. “He--he knows, and he says it was Mr. Fara----Oh, Miss Olivia!” and she began to cry.