She did not know whether she believed the shooting accidental or not, but, in either case, she blamed Paul for having brought this trouble upon her,—ruined her life, she said,—feeling sometimes that she could not forgive him if the law should set him free. To lose her position as his wife was hard, but her brother’s blood was on his hands and she must not marry him. How much this decision was influenced by a letter received by her mother from Ralph Fenner, the Englishman, telling her that his uncle, the old earl, was dead, and also the little boy next in the succession, leaving only his invalid brother between him and the title, it is hard to say. She had sent him cards to her wedding, and he wrote on the assumption that she was married, and sent his congratulations to her and Paul, inviting them, if they ever came to England, to visit him at Elm Park, his late uncle’s country seat, where, with his brother, he was living. The possibility which this letter opened up did not occur to her at first, and she would not have admitted that it occurred to her at all or made her think less kindly of Paul. She was reading this letter a second time when Elithe’s card was brought to her. Something told her that Elithe was bringing her news of Paul, and she signified her willingness to see her. She could not forget that Jack had loved the girl and her manner was more cordial than haughty as she went forward to meet her. “I have a message from Mr. Ralston,” Elithe began at once. “Where is he?” Clarice asked, and Elithe replied by telling her particulars of the escape and of the Smuggler’s room in the basement of the Ralston House, where Paul was taken; of his delirious illness, when he talked so much of Clarice, thinking she was with him; of the days of convalescence, harder to bear than positive illness; of his despair as he counted the weary years which must be spent in hiding and his oft-repeated resolves to give himself up to justice. “He goes around the house when no one is there,” she said, “and is often in the look-out on the roof, where he can see the boats as they go out and come in. He heard you were to leave to-morrow and wishes you to come to him this evening. Here is his note.” She passed it to Clarice, who read: “My Darling: Can you come to me before you go and let me see your dear face again? You may never be my wife, but the knowing that you love and trust me will make life more endurable, whether spent in a foreign land or in a felon’s cell. I have so much to say to you. Come, Clarice; if you ever loved me, come.” Clarice’s lips quivered as she read the note, and her eyes were full of tears. For a brief instant she hesitated and seemed to be thinking. Then she said, “I cannot go.” “You cannot!” Elithe repeated, and Clarice continued: “No, I cannot. Of what use would it be when I can’t say I think him innocent.” “You don’t think him guilty?” Elithe exclaimed, and Clarice replied, “I think he killed Jack. _Your_ testimony proved that.”