Here her voice died away in a sudden fit of weakness, as though the fierce consuming passion of her grief had eaten away all her strength. But in a moment or two she continued. "I thought my husband dead, and the sin my son's," she whispered. "They sent to me to come to his trial, that they might hear from my lips what they thought evidence against him. I would have died first. Then came a young man who told me all, and I came with him to England. I have seen and spoken with my husband. On his table he showed me signed papers. His confession was ready. 'This night,' he said, 'I take my leave of the world.' Thank God, he forgave me, and I him. We have stood hand-in-hand together, and the past between us is no more. He bade me come here, and I have come. I have seen the woman my son loves, and I am satisfied. Now I will go." Her eyes rested for a moment upon Helen, full of an inexpressible yearning, and there had been a faint, sad wistfulness in her tone. But when she had finished, she drew her cloak around her, and turned toward the door. Helen let her take a few steps, scarcely conscious of her intention. Then she sprang up, and laid her hand upon Lady Beaumerville's shoulder. "You are his mother," she said softly. "May I not be your daughter?" * * * * * "Helen, Helen, I have strange news for you!" The room was in semi-darkness, for the fire had burnt low and the heavily shaded lamp gave out but little light. Side by side on the low sofa, two women, hand-in-hand, had been sobbing out their grief to one another. On the threshold, peering with strained eyes through the gloom, was Mr. Thurwell, his light overcoat, hastily thrown over his evening clothes, still unremoved. She rose to her feet, and he saw the dim outline of her graceful figure, even a vision of her white, tear-stained face. "The truth has come out," he said gravely. "To-morrow Bernard will be free. The man who killed Sir Geoffrey Kynaston has confessed." "Confessed!" Helen repeated. "Where? To whom?" "To the Home Secretary, to a party of us as we sat at supper, his guests at the club. Helen, be prepared for a great surprise. The murderer was Sir Allan Beaumerville." "I know it," Helen whispered hoarsely across the room. "Have they arrested Sir Allan?" Mr. Thurwell's surprise at his daughter's knowledge was forgotten in the horror of the scene which her words had called up. Across the darkened air of the little chamber it seemed to float again before his shuddering memory, and he stretched out his hands for a moment before his face. "Arrested him--no!" he answered in an agitated tone. "I have seen nothing so awful in all my life. He made his confession at the head of his table, the police were clamoring outside with a warrant, and while we all sat dazed and stupefied, he fell backward--dead."