"If you leave the room, Ferdy," said Clarice, in a quiet and level voice, "you will run straight into the hands of the police." The young man's face changed immediately to a chalky white, and he fell nervelessly into a chair near the door. "The police?" he whispered. "Yes," said Clarice, pitilessly, for his unmanly terror disgusted her; "you will probably spend your night in gaol." "Clarice!" Ferdy staggered to his feet, violently trembling. "I--I--I--don't know what you mean." Ackworth gave a low laugh of scorn, and strolled to the hearth-rug to take up his position before the fire. "You had better confess," he said, in his sharp, military way. "Confess what?" "Oh!" Clarice clenched her hands and her eyes shot fire. "Why will you keep up this pretence? You know well enough what you have to confess. Will you do so here, or in the dock?" "In the dock?" Ferdy flung forward half-way across the room. "I don't--I never did--what is it?--oh, Clarry, you are making a mistake." "Is this a mistake?" asked his sister, and showed him the stamp. Ferdy was drawn towards it like the ship to the fabled magnetic rocks in the Arabian tale. "Where--where did you get it?" he whispered. "In your room--hidden away." "And who put it--who hid it--who--oh--" he caught his breath--"this is a conspiracy to ruin me." "Zara will ruin you--" "Zara!" "Jerce will ruin you--" "Jerce!" "Osip will ruin you." "Osip! Osip! Osip!" "Only Anthony and I can save you. Tell the truth--the whole truth." "Clarry!"--Ferdy collapsed into a chair--"I--I never killed him." "Zara declares that you did. She saw you through the window." "She saw me--yes--she told me she saw me--but I was marking the forehead of Uncle Henry with that"--he pointed to the stamp. "He was dead when I entered the room; I swear that he was." "Then you WERE in Uncle Henry's room on that night?" cried Clarice, springing to her feet with horror-filled eyes. "You DID stamp his poor flesh with that accursed Purple Fern. Oh, Anthony, Anthony," she rushed towards her lover and caught at him with both hands, "how can I bear it--how can I bear it? Disgrace--shame--murder--" Ferdy slipped on to the floor, and clutched at her dress. He was terrified at seeing Clarice desert him in this way, and whimpered like a child that had been left alone in the dark. "Not murder. No! no! I swear not murder. But--but--but--" he broke down crying, and hid his shameful face in his hands, sobbing bitterly.