"Ay, but mercy to one is injustice to another. And this deed is so dastardly it puts the doer beyond the pale of clemency." "And who is the doer of the deed?" It was Mistress Calvert's voice that spoke, and both men started. Elinor Calvert stood there before them in her dress of white and gold. She who had come lightly walking across the snow-covered fields, holding her head high and bidding her heart not to beat too joyously, seemed now like some animal decked for the sacrifice, that has been allowed to make merry on the journey to the altar, but now must bare its breast to the sacrificial knife. "Who is the doer of the deed?" Even as she put the question she knew the answer, yet she stood her ground and gazed steadfastly at the men, whose eyes fell before hers. Ralph Ingle looked at the earth and began to stir with his foot a brown branch of ground-pine which had pushed its way through the snow. Brent stroked the donkey's ears for an instant, swallowed hard, hesitated, then spoke impulsively, "Elinor, there is no use in attempting to hide it. The man who did that foul murder is _Christopher Neville_." "NEVER!" "Ay, so I would have sworn two hours since; but tell me one thing--did he and the priest quarrel here at St. Gabriel's last night?" "Ay--but--" "Nay, no buts--plain facts tell their own story with no 'buts.' Did he or did he not start out into the night after the quarrel with Father Mohl?" Elinor quivered as though the knife had entered her own heart. "Oh, I will not answer! How can I when I know every word will be twisted to one fell purpose?" "Elinor, what is it to thee what befalls a man whom thou didst meet but yesterday?" "That is false. I knew him years ago in England. Years ago he loved me and I loved him, and we would have wedded but for--" "But for what, Elinor?" "For his faith." "Ah, thou hast said the word. Now we have the thread to guide us through this dark maze. Neville loves thee still. He follows thee to this country, he begs me to intercede with thee to accept him as thy tenant, and all without a word of having known thee before; not a word, you see, Ingle, even to me, this woman's natural guardian. Doth it not smack of deceit and treachery?" "I cannot deny it hath that appearance, yet beware how you do wholly commit yourself to appearances!" "Ay, if appearances were all, but listen how the story all fits together. Faith, I can tell it as though I had seen all. This man comes to St. Gabriel's, and finding Mistress Calvert alone he tells her of his love. She, like the good Catholic she is, tells him in turn that his faith still stands between them. He swears at the fanatical priests who stand between her and him. Is not this all true so far, Cousin?" No response; but the silence answers him.