"Quite unintentional, I'm sure," whispered Sir George. There was something I did not like about that whisper. It seemed to imply more than met the ear. Charles did not appear to hear him. He was looking fixedly before him, his hand had dropped from Ralph's shoulder, his face was quite gray. "Then," he said, slowly, as if waking out of a dream, "it was _not_ Carr." "No," said Sir George; "I never thought it was." "Good God!" ejaculated Charles, sinking into a low chair by the fire, and shading his face with his hand. "Not Carr, after all!" But my indignation could not be restrained a moment longer. I had only been kept silent by repeated signs from Marston, and now I broke out. "And so, sir, you suspect my friend," I said, "and insult him in your father's house by turning the key on him. You endeavor to throw suspicion on a man who never injured you in the slightest degree. You insult _me_ in insulting my friend, sir. Suspicion is not always such an easy thing to shake off as it has been in this instance. I, on my side, might ask what _you_ were doing walking about the passages in your socks at four o'clock this morning? In your socks, sir, still in your evening clothes--" I had spoken it anger, not thinking much what I was saying, and I stopped short, alarmed at the effect of my own words. "I knew it! I knew it!" gasped Sir George, in his hoarse, suffocated voice, and he fell back panting among his pillows. Charles took his hand from his face, and looked hard at me with a strange kind of smile. "At any rate we are quits, Middleton," he said. "You have done it now, and no mistake." I did not quite see what I had done, but it soon became apparent. "I knew it!" gasped out the sick man again; "I knew it from the first moment that he tried to throw suspicion on Carr." "Sir George," said Marston, gravely, "Charles made a mistake just now. Do not you, on your side, make another. Come, Charles," turning to the latter, who was now sitting erect, with flashing eyes, "tell us about it. What were you doing when Middleton saw you?" "I was coming up-stairs," said Charles, haughtily. "From the library?" asked Sir George. Charles bit his lip and remained silent. I would not have spoken to him for a good deal at that moment. He looked positively dangerous. "From the library, of course," he said at last, controlling himself, and speaking with something of his old careless manner, "laden with the spoils of my midnight depredations. Parental fondness will supply all minor details, no doubt; so, as the subject is a delicate one for me, I will withdraw, that it may be discussed more fully in my absence."