“Now, then, you fool, just tell the lady you was only a-playin’ it low down on her, on the chance o’ gettin’ a copper or two,” he said. “Yah! I’m ashamed of you! Come on, speak up. There ain’t no time.” “Time! time, Seth?” the woman sobbed. “Yes!” he snarled. “You know we’re a-goin’ by the train, as well as I do.” She shrank back, but he pulled her forward. “Now, then, tell the lady.” She turned her eyes upon Bessie, then let them drop. “It--it wasn’t true, miss, as I was going to tell you,” she said. “There you are!” exclaimed Seth, triumphantly. “Now come along!” and he hurried the woman up the steps. Poor Bessie sprang after them in such haste that she trod upon her dress and fell. As she got up and raced up the steps, she heard the slamming of the carriage doors, and found the station gate locked. There was only one porter, and he did not hear her until the train had started; and she leaned against the gate, trembling and almost fainting, as the train bore Bartley Bradstone and the two gypsies toward London. She got back to the carriage, and was driven to the Grange, and flew to Olivia’s room. Olivia met her at the door. “Well!” she exclaimed, seizing her by the hand and drawing her in, and Bessie told her all that had happened. Olivia paced up and down. “Oh, Bessie! Bessie! Fate is working against us. That he should have come up at that moment! Oh, if I had but listened to her that night by the lodge! What does it all mean? But we will find them.” She snatched up her hat. “Help me! No, you poor thing, you are tired and worn out. Stay there and rest.” “Where are you going, miss?” exclaimed Bessie; but Olivia was out of the room before she could stop her. She came back in a little over an hour, pale, but with a resolute look in her eyes. “What have you done, miss?” she asked, tremulously. “I have telegraphed to the London terminus to stop the gypsy and the woman!” she said. “I”--her color rose for an instant--“I let them think they had robbed me.” Bessie uttered a cry of satisfaction. “Oh, Miss Olivia, we shall have them, we will make that woman speak out, and we shall save him yet.” And the two girls, mistress and maid, cried together. Alas! It did not occur to them that Seth the gypsy would, being as cunning as a gypsy, give them full credit for the telegraphing idea, and get out at some intermediate station. CHAPTER XXXII. THE TRIAL. The days wore on. To Olivia they appeared sometimes to drag with leaden weight, at others to fly by on wings. No news had reached her of Bertie, no tidings of Bartley Bradstone, or Seth the gypsy, and Liz Lee. It seemed as if, indeed, Fate were fighting against her, and that the mystery which surrounded the murder in the woods grew deeper and darker as the hour of the trial drew near. And it was very near now. For on the twenty-ninth, Harold Faradeane was to be tried, and it was now the night of the twenty-eighth.