“‘But, of course,’ added the jovial and pleasant-looking landlord of the Fernhead Arms, ‘the likes of us down here didn’t know what became of Mr. Ledbury after he left “The Limes,” until one day I reads in the local paper that Sir John Fernhead’s daughter is going to be married to Captain Mervin Ledbury. Of course, your honour and me, and all of us know Sir John, our squire, down at Fernhead Towers, and I says to old Mat: “It strikes me,” I says, “that you’ve got your man.” Sure enough it was the same Mr. Ledbury who rented “The Limes” years ago, who was engaged to the young lady up at the Towers, and last week there was grand doings there—lords and ladies and lots of quality staying there, and also the Captain.’ “‘Well?’ asked the coroner eagerly, whilst every one held their breath, wondering what was to come. “‘Well,’ continued Michael Pitkin, ‘Old Man Newton went down to the Towers one day. ’E was determined to see young Mr. Ledbury, and went. What ’appened I don’t know, for old Mat wouldn’t tell me, but he came back mighty furious from ’is visit, and swore ’e would ruin the young man and make no end of a scandal, and he would bring the law agin’ ’im and get £5,000 damages.’ “This story, embellished, of course, by many details, was the gist of what the worthy landlord of the Fernhead Arms had to say, but you may imagine how every one’s excitement and curiosity was aroused; in the meanwhile Samuel Holder was getting over his nervousness, and was more ready to give a clear account of what happened on the fatal night itself. “‘It was about nine o’clock,’ he explained, in answer to the coroner, ‘and I was hurrying back to Ayrsham, through the fields; it was dark and raining, and I was about to strike across the hedge into the lane when I heard voices—a woman’s, then a man’s. Of course, I could see nothing, and the man spoke in a whisper, but I had recognised Mary’s voice quite plainly. She kept on saying: “’Tisn’t my fault!” she says, “it’s father’s, ’e has made up ’is mind. I held out as long as I could, but ’e worried me, and now ’e’s got your letters, and it’s too late.”’ “Samuel Holder again paused a moment, then continued: