"Women have done worse deeds than men," was the elder man's answer. And Mr. Ollivera took a step forward. "Whether man or woman did this--that is, took my dear brother's life--and then suffered the slur to rest on his own innocent self--suffered him to be buried like a dog--suffered his best relatives to think of him as one who had forfeited Heaven's redeeming mercy, I know not," said the clergyman. "But from this time forward, I vow never to slacken heart, or hand, or energy, until I shall have brought the truth to light. The way was long and dark, and seemed hopeless; it might be that I lost patience and grew slack and weary; perhaps this discovery has arisen to reprove me and spur me on." "But what can you do in it?" again asked Bede. "Whatever I do in it, I shall not come to you to aid me, Bede," was the reply. "It appears to me--and I have told you this before--that you would rather keep the dark cloud on my brother's name than help to lift it. What had he ever done to you in life that you should so requite him?" "Heaven knows my heart and wish would be good to clear him," spoke Bede, with an earnestness that approached agitation. "But if I am unable to do it,--if I cannot see how it may be done,--if the power of elucidation does not lie with me--what would you?" "You have invariably thrown cold water upon every effort of mine. My most earnest purposes you have all but ridiculed." "No, Henry. I have been sorry, vexed if you will, at what I thought the mistaken view you take up. Over-reiteration of a subject leads to weariness. If I was unable to see any other probable solution than the one arrived at by the coroner and jury, it was not my fault. As to John--if by sacrificing my own life, at any moment since I saw him lying dead, could have restored his, I would willingly have offered it up." "I beg your pardon, Bede; I spoke hastily," said the man of peace. "Of course I had no right to be vexed that you and others cannot see with my eyes. But, rely upon it, the avowal now made by Charles Willett is true." "Yes, perhaps it may be," acknowledged Bede. "William," interrupted Mr. Greatorex, lifting his head after a pause of thought--and his voice had sunk to a whisper. "It could not be that--that--Charles Willett was the one to slink in, and harm him?" A kind of eager light flashed into the dark eyes of Bede Greatorex, as he turned them on his cousin. If it did not express a belief in the possibility of the suggestion, it at least betrayed that the idea stirred up his interest.