But perhaps I was mistaken, after all. Granted that Marcia Lawrence had been subject to spells of derangement, that was no proof that she had committed this crime. It might be, indeed, that that very infirmity was the cause of her flight. She may have believed herself cured, and accepted Curtiss in good faith, only to discover at the last moment that she was not cured; or the impulse to flight may have seized her during a sudden aberration caused by the excitement of her wedding-day. Aversion to friends and kindred was, as I knew, one of the most common symptoms of such derangement. Was this the key to the mystery? Was this the explanation of her flight? It was with my mind in this tumult that I approached Dr. Schuyler's house, that evening, and rang the bell. He opened the door himself. "I was expecting you," he said, and led the way to his study. "Sit down, Mr. Lester. I've been thinking over what you told me, and it seems to me that the world should know the whole truth." My heart sank at the words. "But what good will it do?" I questioned. "Of course, Dr. Schuyler, I suspect what the secret is. What good will it do that the world should know it?" "It will at least turn loathing into pity; it will show that she was justified, in so far as there can be justification for such an act. It will show that she was not mentally responsible--therefore neither legally nor morally guilty." "I wasn't aware that she was regarded with loathing," I said. "In fact, I didn't know that she was connected with this case at all in any one's mind outside of ourselves and a friend of mine." "Not connected with it!" Dr. Schuyler cried. "You astonish me!" "The public doesn't know the facts, and I see no reason why they should. You will answer me, perhaps, that it's a duty to protect the memory of the dead; but the dead was guilty equally with the living." "My dear sir," said Dr. Schuyler, staring at me in a way I found most puzzling, "you're speaking in riddles. I confess that I don't in the least understand you. What is it you propose?" "What I propose," I said bluntly, "is this. Let Harriet Kingdon bear the obloquy of the crime--it can't harm her now--besides, she largely deserves it. My evidence and Godfrey's will show that Lucy Kingdon had no hand in it, so there'll be no danger of wronging her. Let us see that Marcia Lawrence is placed in proper hands and receives proper care. Perhaps she may yet----" "Marcia Lawrence!" he repeated hoarsely. "What has she to do with this case, Mr. Lester?" The question, the expression of his face, brought me to my feet. I was trembling so that I caught at the chair for support. I saw it all. In an instant, I saw it all! "Then it wasn't Miss Lawrence----" "Nonsense! Not at all!" he broke in testily. "It was Harriet Kingdon." CHAPTER XXII Light at Last! I sank back into my chair, overcome by such a flood of relief and thankfulness that I could not speak. But Dr. Schuyler laboured under no such disability.