How did it happen?--a question so easy to ask--recalling so often in the midst of the most tragic seriousness a moment of utter levity, gaiety, and carelessness--a light impulse for which never all his life long will some one forgive himself. “It was my fault,” Arthur Arden explained, with a voice choked and broken. “I had driven Miss Pimpernel to the station to meet her father, and we met and stopped to talk to Jeanie on the way. We talked to her, and offered her carelessly a drive when we came back. On the way back we found her still on the same spot. I got down to speak to her, and so did old Pimpernel--Heaven knows why! Then there was some talk about this drive. She did not understand us--she had no intention of coming. It was I who almost lifted her into the carriage. I had my foot on the step to mount after her, when Alice seized the reins, and dashed on. Don’t ask me any more. And now, God help us, that innocent creature is dying--and it is my fault----” “It is more Miss Pimpernel’s fault,” said Edgar, but he turned from his kinsman with a dislike and sense of repulsion which he could hardly explain. Arthur, on the contrary, clung to him with painful anxiety. “Don’t leave me until we hear,” he cried. He kept his arm within Edgar’s, holding him fast, feeling him to be a defence against the Pimpernels, against Mrs. Murray, against even the sour looks of Dr. Somers, when he should come. No doubt, Arthur felt, the whole world would blame him, and consider Jeanie as his victim. The Pimpernels would forsake him, and Clare----“Arden,” he said, with sudden weakness, “I have had a great deal to annoy me since you went away. These people, the Pimpernels, invited me after a while, and I stayed, thinking--I don’t hesitate to say, for you know--thinking I should be near your sister. And Clare has behaved to me----” “Hush, for Heaven’s sake,” said Edgar, angrily. “I will have nothing said of Clare. Let us see what comes of this business in the first place--it is enough for the moment.” “You blame me,” said Arthur; “of course I knew you would blame me. But, as you have said yourself, it was that fool of a girl who was to blame. Good God! how could she drive these fiery brutes--I told her it was impossible. If it had only been herself she had killed, and not poor Jeanie--little Jeanie.”