'I imagined you thought so last night--forgive me,' I replied, angry with myself for having blurted out the words. I saw the colour mount to her cheeks, and I thought her eyes flashed anger. 'It might seem as though everything had been pre-arranged,' I went on, 'but I'm sure he could not help himself. Never did a man love a woman more than Edgecumbe--that is Jack Carbis, loves you. He felt it to be his duty to you to expose Springfield. He knew all along that he was an evil fellow.' She did not speak, and again I went on almost in spite of myself. 'I have thought a good deal about what you said. Surely you never thought of marrying him?' 'Yes, I did.' 'Because you loved him?' She shook her head. 'No, I never loved him,' she replied quickly, angrily. 'The very thought of----' she stopped suddenly, and was silent for a few seconds; and then went on, 'I cannot tell you. It would----; no, I cannot tell you.' 'I know it's no business of mine,' I continued,' and yet it is. No man had a better friend than Jack, and--and--owing to the peculiar way we were brought together perhaps, no man ever felt a deeper interest in another man than I feel in him. That is why----; I say, Lorna, I'm afraid he'd be mad with me for telling you, but--but--he'd give the world to marry you.' 'I shall never marry him,' and her words were like a cry of despair. 'But--but----' 'I shall never marry him,' she repeated, still in the same tones. At that moment we heard Sir Thomas Bolivick's voice, and turning, saw him coming towards us with a look of horror on his face. 'I say, this is ghastly,' he said. 'What is it, dad?' asked Lorna anxiously. 'It's terrible, simply terrible,--and yet--you see--Maurice St. Mabyn has just telegraphed me. He says he has just received a message from Plymouth. That man Springfield was found dead an hour or so ago.' 'Found dead!' I gasped. 'Yes, in his room in the ---- Hotel. Committed suicide.' I looked at Lorna's face almost instinctively. It was very pale, and there could be no doubt but that she was terribly shocked by the news. And yet I felt sure I saw a look on her face which suggested relief. But beyond her quick breathing she uttered no sound. 'It's terrible,' went on Sir Thomas, 'but after--after last night I'm not sure--it's--it's not a relief to us all. Evidently the fellow----; but--but it's terrible, isn't it? Of course the hotel people wired St. Mabyn, as he told them at the bureau that he had just come from his house.' 'How did he die?' I asked. 'Poison,' replied Sir Thomas. 'He seems to have injected some sort of Indian poison into his veins. Evidently he had it with him, as the doctor says it is unobtainable anywhere in England. He left a letter, too.' 'A letter? To whom?' 'I don't quite know. To George St. Mabyn I expect. Awful, isn't it?' I saw him look at Lorna; but her face told him nothing. She appeared perfectly calm, although I felt sure she was suffering.