"Yes—because I do not seek society," observed Richard. "I wrote a proper answer: what, then, did his servant require to-day?" "It appears that a young person in whom you felt some interest——" "Katherine Wilmot?" said Richard. "That is the name," returned Ellen. "What about her?" asked our hero. "She has committed a crime——" "A crime!" "A crime of the blackest dye: she has poisoned Mr. Tracy's housekeeper." "Ellen you are deceived—you are mistaken: it is impossible!" exclaimed Markham, "I never saw her but once, it is true: and still the impression she made upon me was most favourable. I did not mention any thing concerning her to either you or your father, because I sought to do an act of humanity in tearing her away from a wretched home; and I am not one who speaks of such a deed as that." "I am not deceived—I am not mistaken, Richard," answered Ellen. "The footman came and narrated to me the particulars; and he said that his master was too unwell, through horror and excitement, to write to you upon the subject." Ellen then related the few particulars yet known in connexion with the case, but the nature of which is already before the reader. Richard remained silent for a long time, after Ellen had ceased to speak. "If that innocent-looking girl be a murderess," he exclaimed at length, "I shall never put faith in human appearances again. But, until she be proved guilty, I will not desert her." "Do you know," said Ellen, "that I do not like your Mr. Tracy at all! Not that I suppose him capable of falsely accusing any one of so heinous a crime as murder; but—I do not like him." "A female caprice, Ellen," observed Richard. "The world in general adores him." "Ah! those who stand upon the highest pinnacles often experience the most signal falls," said Ellen. "The breath of calumny has never tainted his fair fame," cried Richard. "Alas! we have so many—many instances of profound ecclesiastical hypocrisy," persisted Miss Monroe. "Ellen, you wrong an excellent man," said Markham, somewhat severely. "I will call upon him to-morrow morning, and learn from his own lips the particulars of this most mysterious deed." CHAPTER CLIV. REFLECTIONS.—THE NEW PRISON. Richard Markham passed an uneasy night. His thoughts wandered from topic to topic until the variety seemed infinite. He pondered upon his brother, and again reflected for the thousandth time what connexion could possibly exist between him and the Resurrection Man. The fatal letter, desiring this terrible individual to call upon him, was too decidedly in Eugene's handwriting to be doubted. The other contents of the pocket-book, which Richard had found in the Gipsies' Palace, threw no light upon the subject; indeed, they only consisted of a few papers of no consequence to any one.