Honoria told him the circumstances which she had related to Sir Oswald; the false alarm about her husband, the drive to Yarborough Tower, and the night of agony spent within the ruins; but, to her horror, she perceived that this man also disbelieved her. The story seemed wild and improbable, and people had already condemned her. They were prepared to hear a fabrication from her lips; and the truth which she had to tell seemed the most clumsy and shallow of inventions. Gilbert Ashburne did not tell her that he doubted her; but, polite as his words were, she could read the indications of distrust in his face. She could see that he thought worse of her after having heard the statement which was her sole justification. "And where is this Mr. Carrington now to be found?" he asked, presently. "I do not know. Having accomplished his base plot, and caused his friend's restoration to the estates, I suppose he has taken care to go far away from the scene of his infamy." The magistrate looked searchingly at her face. Was this acting, or was she ignorant of the destruction of the will? Did she, indeed, believe that the estates were lost to herself? * * * * * Before the hour at which the coroner's inquest was to be held in the great dining-room, Reginald Eversleigh and Victor Carrington met at the appointed spot in the avenue of firs. One glance at his friend's face informed Victor that some fatal event had occurred since the previous day. Reginald told him, in brief, passionate words, of the destruction of the will. "You are a clever schemer, no doubt, Mr. Carrington," he added, bitterly; "but clever as you are, you have been outwitted as completely as the veriest fool that ever blundered into ruin. Do you understand, Carrington--we are not richer by one halfpenny for all your scheming?" Carrington was silent for awhile; but when, after a considerable pause, he at length spoke, his voice betrayed a despair as intense in its quiet depth as the louder passion of his companion. "I cannot believe it," he exclaimed, in a hoarse whisper. "I tell you, man, you must, have made some senseless mistake. The will cannot have been destroyed." "I had the fragments in my hand," answered Reginald. "I saw my name written on the worthless scrap of burnt paper. All that was left besides that wretched fragment were the ashes in the grate." "I saw the will executed--I saw it--within a few hours of Sir Oswald's death." "You saw it done?" "Yes, I was outside the window of the library." "And you--! oh, it is too horrible," cried Reginald. "What is too horrible?" "The deed that was done that night." "That deed is no business of ours," answered Victor; "the person who destroyed the will was your uncle's assassin, if he died by the hand of an assassin." "Do you really believe that, Carrington; or are you only fooling me?" "What else should I believe?"