Then they went across the bridge, saw the river full of boats with their light-hearted occupants, had a drink at the Anglers Hotel, and looked out over the foaming waters of the Weir, murmuring like the humming of bees, and ultimately went back to the Crown Hotel, up the long street, with the old little shops on either side. After they had some luncheon, consisting of bread and cheese and beer, they sat in the dining-room in a kind of somnolent state, smoking steadily, until a waiter came, and said that a lady had called to see them. "Why, what's the time?" asked Ronald, sleepily, tumbling to his feet. "Three o'clock, sir," returned the waiter. "The Devil!" ejaculated Ronald. "I say, old boy, here's Mrs. Verschoyle." "Right you are," answered Foster, awake and alert at once; "I'm coming--where is the lady?" "In the sitting-room upstairs, sir," replied the waiter. They went upstairs to the sitting-room, and found a lady, closely veiled, waiting for them. She arose when they entered, and looked from one to the other in a doubtful way. "Mr. Monteith?" she asked. "I have the honour to bear that name," replied Ronald, stepping forward. "You are Mrs. Verschoyle?" The lady bowed and threw back her veil, disclosing a countenance so like Carmela's, that Ronald was startled for a moment. "You will wonder what I've come about," said Mrs. Verschoyle, resuming her seat; "so I may as well tell you at once--it is to stop my sister's marriage with the Marchese Vassalla." Gerald glanced at Ronald, and as their eyes met the same thought was in their minds. "Jealousy!" "But why do you come to us?" said Ronald, politely; "we cannot stop the marriage." How he fervently wished he could! "Yes, you can," she replied, quietly; "you are looking for the murderer of my husband." Both the young men stared; what was she going to say? "My sister and I are not very good friends," said Mrs. Verschoyle; "but I don't want to see her married to a man guilty of a crime." "Guilty of a crime!" cried Ronald, springing to his feet; "you don't mean to say that Vassalla----" "Is the murderer of Leopold Verschoyle," she said. "Yes, I swear it." Ronald sat down again, and looked helplessly at Foster, who came to his aid. "This is a very serious charge you make, madam," said Foster, gravely; "are you sure?" She sprang to her feet in a fury. "Sure!" she hissed, viciously; "of course I am sure; you have been looking for the murderer of my husband, and I tell you the man, then you doubt my word--bah!" Foster was quite unmoved by her violence. "I always presume a man's innocent till he is proved guilty," he said, quietly; "so that must be my excuse; but are you sure Vassalla committed this crime?" "I will tell you all about it," said Mrs. Verschoyle, sitting down again; "when I married Mr. Verschoyle, my cousin Matteo was in love with me." "So your sister said," interposed Ronald, gravely.