"'Once for all, let me assert most solemnly, and at a time when to tell a lie in the matter could be of no possible benefit to me, that I am utterly guiltless of intentionally causing Hubert Stone's death. His fate was the result of an accident brought on by his own rashness. Had he left the knife in his pocket he would have been alive at the present moment; although how the struggle would have terminated in that case, and what might have happened to me, is another matter. "'After having confessed to so much, it maybe some relief to the minds of certain people if I reveal one or two other secrets, which in comparison are trifles. Be it known, then, that it was I, Ferdinand Lennox, who appropriated Mrs. Carlyon's jewel-case, and Mr. Booties watch and chain, and the old Doctor's gold box, together with one or two minor articles that I happened to find close to my hands; hands that had acquired remarkable dexterity in the art of conveyancing. And, really, if unthinking people will place such flagrant temptations in the way of poor erring humanity, they are decidedly to blame; for it serves to entice otherwise would-be innocent people into wrong-doing. Had no thoughtless person ever put temptations before me, even my dark plumage might have been far whiter than it is now. "'And now that my task is over--it has cost me some pain, if only from the sight of my poor sister's tears that drop on her writing as she sits by the bed--I subscribe my name for the last time in this world: Ferdinand Lennox.'" It was his own signature, scrawled in a shaky hand. "Poor Mrs. Ducie!" exclaimed Ella. "I shall write her a nice letter." "So shall I," added Maria. "I shall write to her myself," cried the good-hearted Vicar. "If we were all to be abandoned for the sins committed by our friends and relatives, the world would be harder than it is." "To have had such a brother!--so sweet a woman as that Margaret Ducie seemed to be, poor thing!" lamented Lady Maria Skeffington. "She quite won my heart." Philip Cleeve's face flushed: Margaret Ducie had nearly won his. He recalled what his feelings towards her had been. But last summer's flowers were not more dead than those feelings were now. "Mrs. Ducie will never come back to England," he remarked aloud. "Never," nodded Dr. Spreckley: "we may rest pretty well assured of that. It must have been Lennox to whom you were indebted for the loss of your purse," he added to Mr. Kettle. "Ay," said the Vicar. "I remember quite well that he stood talking to me for some little time just before the party broke up. The fellow was so pleasant that no one on earth would have taken him for a pickpocket. Dear me! what curious experiences we pick up in life!"