When Dora took leave of Allen, she returned to the Red House with the firm conviction that to save the doctor she would be obliged to marry Joad. In the face of this old man's evidence, she did not see how Allen could defend himself. It was true that he could produce the letter of Mr. Edermont, giving him a midnight invitation to his study; but such production would not mend matters. It would only show that he had been present at the very hour of the murder, and would confirm the evidence of Joad. Once that was proved, what plea could he put forward to prove his innocence? None. A quarrel might have taken place on the subject of their previous conversation, and Allen might have killed Edermont in a fit of rage. That was the view, Dora truly believed, which the judge and jury would take of the matter. And on the face of it what view could be more reasonable? It was no use bringing Lady Burville into the question, for her evidence could throw no light on the subject. When she left the house Edermont was alive; when Scott arrived the old man was dead, and there was nothing to show that anyone had been in the study between Lady Burville's departure and Dr. Scott's arrival. Medical evidence could prove that Lady Burville was too feeble a woman to strike so terrible a blow, of too nervous a character to carry out so brutal a crime. No; if Lady Burville came into court, it would be to save herself, and to condemn Allen. Under these circumstances, it only remained to hush the matter up by granting Joad's wish. Dora hated the man, but for the sake of Allen she decided to marry him. Yet, as she still had a few days' grace before giving him his answer, she resolved to say nothing of her resolution at present. It might be that in the interval the real criminal might be discovered. All that night Dora tossed and tossed on her bed, courting sleep in vain. She was like a rat in a trap, running round and round in the endeavour to escape. She would have done anything rather than consent to this marriage with Joad; but unless some miracle intervened, she saw no chance of escaping the ceremony. To be saddled with such a husband! to live in constant companionship with such a satyr! The poor girl wept bitterly at the very thought. What would she feel when Joad demanded payment of the price of his silence? Towards morning she fell into an uneasy slumber, and awoke more despondent than ever. It was with a listless air that she descended to breakfast, and only with a strong effort could she force herself to eat. Meg Gance, who brought in the meal, informed her Mr. Joad was already in the library, engrossed in his daily occupation. "He come here afore nine," said Meg, who was a large, stupid countrywoman, with more muscle than brains; "it wasn't so when master lived, was it, Miss Dora?" "No. But I don't suppose it matters much now when Mr. Joad comes, Meg."