The sun was setting behind the hills and touching the white tips of the snow-covered trees with flame. The smoke curled from the kitchen chimney and the fire on the hearth of the hall shone out merrily to greet the travellers. Giles Brent was expected, and he rarely came alone. His sister Mary, who had all day been regretting that he could not be present at the investiture of Elinor's tenant, was resolved that a noble supper should console him for the loss. Venison pasty flanked by game graced the head and foot of the table, and hot bowls of soup simmered before the kitchen fire. Cecil was stationed at the window to keep watch and bring early report of the approach of the cloaked rider on his black Flemish horse. Already they had been seen, for Cecil and Knut were tearing across the snowy fields, and Mary Brent and Elinor were at the door with two men by their side. Brent's heart rose in his throat and choked him as he recognized Christopher Neville waving his hand in joyous welcome. Oh, treachery! And who was that beside him--Ralph Ingle? Well, he might be of use. 'Twas as well that he had come. Ah, now Peggy had reached the door. She was telling the story. Brent's eye never moved from Christopher's face while it went on, and he noted with grim satisfaction that at least the man had the grace to shudder and turn pale. But what was this?--instead of hiding himself as he should from the gaze of honest men, he was coming forward toward him, toward _it_! "This is a sad business, Brent!" "_Sad_ is not the word; 'tis a _shameful_ business." "Ay, full of shame for the doer, and sadness for the rest of us. Can I help in lifting the body?" "Nay, that is for those to do who, if they loved him not, yet bore him no malice." Neville started. How could Brent have heard of the quarrel when he was absent? "Not only am I one of those, but I sought this priest last night to beg his pardon." "Hush!" said Brent, hoarsely, "incriminate thyself no further!" "INCRIMINATE!"--That one word cast a lurid light upon the situation. In an instant Neville saw the pitfalls around his path, and the habit of facing danger had taught him the habit of self-control. "This," he said, looking Brent full in the face, "is neither the time nor the place for the discussion of your words and all that they do imply. I shall hold myself ready to meet you when and where you will, to answer any and all charges, whether they come from friend or foe." As Neville turned on his heel he was aware for the first time that Ralph Ingle had been standing close beside him, and of necessity overhearing all that was said. He in turn could not fail to catch Ingle's words addressed to Brent: "Surely, this judgment is over hasty. I have known Sir Christopher but one day, yet am I loath--" "Thou loath! and pray what dost think of me? Why, I had torn my heart out rather than believe such a thing of my friend; but justice is justice." "Yet mercy is mercy."