"I shall go mad," moaned Clarice. "What am I to do? I dare not tell Anthony. I dare not marry him. What is to be done--oh, great heavens, what is to be done?" Then it came into her mind that Zara had stated how Clarke had paid his midnight visit to the death-chamber, and at two o'clock. That was the time--according to the medical evidence--when the deed had been committed. Between one and two o'clock in the morning, Dr. Jerce had said at the inquest. And Clarke was there. If he was innocent himself, he might know who was guilty. He could not have seen Ferdy, who was bolted and barred in his bedroom; but he might have seen Osip kill Horran and impress that infernal seal of evil on the dead. Yes! She would see Clarke--she must see Clarke. There was no need for her to say what she had discovered. She would merely let Clarke speak. She would tax him with his visit, and to exonerate himself--if he was guiltless--he would certainly detail all that happened. If he mentioned Ferdy's name--but then he would not do that--he could not--he dare not. Ferdy could prove an alibi. His sister could prove an alibi for him. Whomsoever killed Horran, her brother was, at least, innocent. And yet the stamp--the stamp of the Purple Fern. How could she explain that away? "My! Miss Clarice, you do look bad," said Mrs. Rebson, entering with a dainty meal of tea and toast. "That nasty London. Here, drink the tea. You'll feel better soon, deary. And after all, you have saved Master Ferdy, haven't you, my deary little maid?" Clarice winced and lied bravely. "Yes," she said, faintly; "I have saved Ferdy. You need have no fear, Nanny. Leave me for ten minutes." Rather reluctantly the old woman departed, and Clarice forced herself to drink a cup of tea and to eat a morsel of toast. She would have to be strong, if Ferdy was to be saved. Zara knew the truth about the boy, and might tell the police. There was no one to save Ferdy, poor, weak, foolish creature, but his sister, and his sister would save him in the face of all obstacles. Clarice, therefore, fought with herself; she struggled desperately with her woman's weakness; she braced herself with prayer, and finally triumphed over the flesh by the strength of her spirit. When Mrs. Rebson stole back to the bedroom, she was amazed to see how rapidly her young mistress had recovered her presence of mind. She had left a pale-faced, tearful girl; she found a calm, self-contained woman. "It's wonderful what tea and toast will do," Mrs. Rebson, with great complacency. "Nanny," observed Clarice, who had now determined what to do; "send to Mr. Clarke, and tell him to see me this afternoon." "You are not well enough, deary." "I am. I must see him." "But your hair, deary." "What's the matter with--oh, yes." Clarice mechanically put her hand to her head. "It is rather awkward. But it is not too closely cropped, Nanny. Get out the hair I cut off, and we'll weave it into what I have left on my scalp."