Clarice sank back in her chair, as Jerce left the room, wondering if she had heard aright. Sir Daniel had certainly said in plain English that, failing the breaking of the engagement, Ferdy would be hanged. That meant the guilt of Ferdy, and yet she could prove that the boy had been locked in his room. What was meant by being an accessory after the fact? She would have to ask Mr. Barras the meaning of that legal phrase. In some way, however--she guessed that much,--it implicated Ferdy in the crime. Ferdy was, wild, assuredly, and to get money would do much. But he would never dare to commit a vile murder. In the first place, his nature was too mild, and in the second, he was too timid. Ferdy must be innocent. And yet--it was strange that he should always be so mysterious, and so ready to take alarm. Clarice recalled several occasions when Ferdy had appeared startled by apparently innocent remarks. Then, again, Ferdy was in the toils of Zara Dumps; and Zara--from her accusation of Mr. Clarke--knew something about the crime. What if she was throwing the blame on the parson to shield Ferdy, whom she loved? At this point of her agonised reflections, the door opened, and Sir Daniel Jerce again appeared. "I think," he said, coldly, yet very pointedly, "that if you take a walk, and put away those medicine bottles, you will find that your illness will vanish. Good-day." And he was gone in a moment. Clarice flung off the shawl and ran to the door. Jerce, then, saw through her feigned disorder. What a fool she was to try and deceive so clever a physician. By the time she gained the hall, Jerce had already passed out of the front door, and when she opened that, he was passing out of the gate. For the moment she felt inclined to call him back, and insist upon her illness, but knowing that she could not deceive so capable a judge, she closed the door again, and returned to the drawing-room.