“Still,” she said quietly, “I am not convinced yet.” “No? It is quite plain to me that it could only have been him or Tony, and the latter suggestion is preposterous.” “Yes,” said the girl, who shivered a little, though the sun was warm. “Of course it is! Still, I cannot believe that the culprit was Bernard Appleby.” Palliser smiled faintly. “One could envy you your charity, my dear, but I have a charge to lay on you. That man may come back—and Tony would temporize. You, however, will show him no mercy. Not one penny of the Northrop rents must be touched by him—and now we will talk of something pleasanter.” Violet Wayne shook the reins, and made an effort; but the old man appeared exhausted, and she was glad that he evinced no great interest in her conversation. What he had told her had left its sting, for she had already been almost driven to the decision he had come to. Appleby, she felt,—why she did not exactly know, though the belief was unshakable,—could not have done the horrible thing, and all the love and loyalty she possessed revolted against the suggestion that Tony was guilty. Yet the brightness seemed to have gone out of the sunlight, and the vista of wood and meadow lost its charm while the shadow deepened in her face as they drove down into the valley. Her mother was waiting on the terrace when they reached Northrop Hall, and when Palliser had gone into the house leaning on a man’s shoulder she looked at the girl curiously. “You are a trifle pale, Violet,” she said. “Of course, it is almost a duty, and he seems more tranquil in your company; but I have fancied lately that you spend too much time with Godfrey Palliser. He seems unusually feeble.” “I do not think he is as well to‐day,” said the girl. “He has sent for lawyer Craythorne,” said her mother thoughtfully. “Well, you must shake off any morbid fancies he may have infected you with. You have Tony to consider, and he has been moody lately. I scarcely like to mention it, my dear, but I wonder if you have noticed that he is not quite so abstemious as he was a little while ago.” A flush of crimson crept into the girl’s cheek, and once more the little chill struck through her, but she met the elder lady’s eyes. “I think you must be mistaken, mother,” she said. She turned and went into the house, but Mrs. Wayne sighed as she walked thoughtfully up and down the terrace, for she had noticed more than she had mentioned, and had fancies that were not pleasant to her. She had borne much sorrow in her time with a high courage, but she was anxious that afternoon, for it seemed to her that there might be a grim reality behind those fancies.